


Superman

by Peasantaries



Series: Novellas [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, BAMF Stiles, Derek is Derek, Developing Relationship, First Love, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Pining, Responsibility, Science Fiction, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 42,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantaries/pseuds/Peasantaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>To watch Derek Hale squirm in a suit is one of the best sights New York City has to offer.</em>
</p><p>  <em>Of course, the view from a twenty storey building is rather unlimited. So it seems only natural to notice things when you're sitting cross-legged waiting for crime to commence.<em></em></em></p><p> (Or, The Amazing Spider-Man AU Nobody Actually Asked For, But I Wrote Anyway)</p><p>[COMPLETE]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful editor Kathleen! 
> 
> The basic plot-line is a very loose mixture of both Spider-Man (2002), Spider-Man 2 (2004), The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) and more importantly, The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (2014). 
> 
> Also I have a lot of original ideas and scenes included, you are warned! Enjoy!

 

The New York City streets are in chaos.

The central bank is being held hostage by a group of armed robbers. The people inside are in complete hysterics, cowering under desks, on the floor. Even families outside are hysterical, calling out to their loved ones.

Children are crying. Security guards are shouting. Policemen are armed, waiting outside the building. The sirens wail, and then screaming begins. The noise of gunfire.

A streak of red and blue flashes across the sky.

"Thank _fuck _."__ Is heard through the intercom.

T H E

A M A Z I N G

S P I D E R M A N

 

Derek Hale buys a blueberry muffin and a takeaway decaf latte from a small coffee shop at 7:15AM - although he can be early at 6:50AM and he might sit for a moment at the window with his laptop, or late at 7:25AM and rush in with his hair a disarray and rush back out (those are the best mornings) - and then he walks (runs) to the subway station to catch a train to Beacon Hills High at 7:30AM.

He breezes inside, slides into the crowded table and is immediately greeted with his friends - or to the outside world: the popular kids. He quietly finishes his breakfast because there's no time at home, with two sisters commanding the bathroom and both parents going to work. The bell rings, he goes to his various classes.

During the weekends, Derek Hale wakes up at 10:00AM and jogs in Central Park for an hour, because he can't afford a gym membership. He then goes home, presumably to shower. During the summer, he meets with his friends for lunch, goes to see a movie, to a shopping mall, to walk around town if it's a nice day. Coming up to SAT's, he spends most of his time inside, or with his friends at the library. They talk. He studies.

During winter, he spends time with his family. On Christmas Eve, every year, they go for dinner to the fancy restaurant across town, and to watch Derek Hale squirm in a suit is one of the best sights New York City has to offer.

Of course, the view from a twenty story building is rather unlimited. So it seems only natural to notice things when you're sitting cross-legged waiting for a crime to commence.

*  
*  
Stiles crashes into the bathroom stall, ripping off his suit and throwing on his regular clothes. He reappears harried, and quickly washes his face of grime. Bank robbers. They really were the most unimaginative of crimes.

He barrels into homeroom.

"Late again, Stilinski?" His teacher drones, not glancing up from the papers he's grading. Stiles nods and makes his way to the back, flopping beside Scott.

"I'm dying." He says quietly. "All my muscles ache."

"I know buddy." Scott slaps him on the shoulder.

"Ahh." He tenses, his mouth falling open in pain.

Scott winces. "Sorry." He whispers. "But I have some good news." He tries, his head tilting like a puppy.

Stiles sighs, rummaging for his planner in his bag. "Go on."

"Well, you know Kira and I have started talking?"

"Do I ever."

Scott pushes him, and Stiles smiles. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Carry on."

"She asked us if we wanted to sit at lunch."

Stiles continues digging around his rucksack. "That's great man, I was actually planning on going to the library to catch up on some -"

"No." Scott interrupts. "She wants us to come over. She's going to introduce us to her friends."

Stiles stops. He whips around, hair standing up every which way. "What." He states.

"Yeah, that whole group. I mean I just suggested I would meet her at lunch, and then she was all, 'come over! Meet the - eh - gang, are you okay?"

Stiles blinks, and refocuses his gaze from staring blankly out the window. "Yup." He says. "Fine."

"Stiles."

"All the group? Everyone in that group?"

"Those are her friends." Scott says.

"So, like. All of them?"

Scott huffs. "Who is it?"

Stiles frowns.

"Who do you not want to meet?"

"No one!" He cries. "All of them! Apparently!"

"Stilinski! McCall!"

They quiet. Scott glances at him surreptitiously. He ignores him in favor of freaking out.

 

*

The day passes uneventfully. As uneventful as the day can be on the day you're going to meet the love of your life.

"Why are you so worried?" Scott asks. "It's not like your crush is introducing you to her closest friends."

"Ya - ha." Stiles laughs loudly. "You - hah."

Scott frowns, and, always the voice of reason, asks. "Is this about Derek?"

"Shhh!" He hisses furiously, pulling on Scott's arm and glancing around wildly.

Scott rolls his eyes. "Stiles. You're hardly subtle. I've known you for a while now."

Stile gapes. "I am so offended right now."

"Look." Scott begins. "I know that you, you know." He gestures wordlessly for a moment to signify Stiles' life-rendering crush. "And I know that he'll be there. But I'll be pretty nervous without you, and you're my best friend, I don't wanna leave you out."

"Ugh." Stiles rubs his face. "Don't give me those pleading eyes." He groans at the thought of seeing Derek, of talking to him, of being himself in his body anywhere near Derek.

Scott shuffles on the spot.

"Alright!" Stiles huffs. "Fine."

Scott winds an arm around his neck and ruffles his hair.

 

*

He cannot find Scott anywhere. He scans the whole cafeteria. Normally they just meet up at their usual table, but today they both need to go up to the popular table together and Scott, there is Scott, sitting beside Kira and waving him over.

He hitches his bag across his shoulder and ambles across. "Uh."

All sixteen eyes are fixed on him.

Stiles Stilinski has faced bullies, murderers, terrorists, police, paparazzi, burning buildings, falling buildings, lawyers - but this. This has to be the most terrifying.

Erica Reyes pops her bubblegum, Vernon Boyd's arm strewn casually across the chair she's perched on.

Jackson Whittemore raises an eyebrow, Danny Māhealani glances up curiously from his sandwich.

Isaac Lahey quirks his head inquiringly, Lydia Martin twists a strand of hair around her index finger. Malia Tate looks him up and down approvingly, Allison Argent smiles reassuringly.

Derek Hale does not glance up at all.

"Hi." He says awkwardly.

And then that's that.

If he is being perfectly honest, he didn't expect to be so wholly accepted. But Boyd gestures for him to sit, and the conversation flows, Kira asking about his classes and homework, and then the others join in, Erica ribbing him about his constant lateness, Isaac asking what classes he took this year, which is his favourite, Danny pitching in about lacrosse.

And then he's talking. It just seems to flow, an ease with them, as if he's known them all his life.

Scott and Kira seem comfortable, happy. They talk quietly, and she laughs and beams at everything he says.

He looks across the table and catches Derek's eye. He smiles nervously, and Derek frowns in utter bewilderment before going back to his book, a gloomy scowl darkening his features.

Stiles' face burns.

 

__*_ _

After that, he can't escape them. They're in class, nodding him over, at practice, ruffling his hair, falling into step with him seemingly from nowhere, smiling in hallways.

Derek is no different. Sometimes, on rare occasions, Derek might look up curiously, or intone a curt reply, but most days he sits reading for the whole lunch.

Some days, there's no other option but to sit in the next available seat - beside Derek. Those days are filled with sweat patches, tremors, involuntary body movements and spasms of the face.

Derek doesn't notice.

He leafs through his novel, or his textbook, or his notes, and only takes notice if a) somebody, mainly Jackson or Boyd, reminds him he hasn't eaten, wherein he will promptly blink and start eating his sandwich, or b) he is asked a direct question, then he'll blink and promptly answer.

Everybody suspects that Derek doesn't normally speak because he's arrogant, he's mysterious, he thinks he's too good for the school populace.

But his voice is gruff, curt, and when he glances up quickly, realising he's been spoken to, he frowns and asks, "What?" With a blunt tone, impatience bleeding through. It's clearly not the fact he thinks he's better than people, it's just the fact that he doesn't want to talk _to anyone _.__

Stiles savors the moments where Derek gives him some kind of acknowledgement, when his eyes will light on him for a few brief seconds at a time.

And he's falling deeper and deeper in love with him.

It all began, really, freshman year.

He doesn't want to say that he set his eyes on Derek and immediately knew it was love at first sight - I mean, he doesn't want to _say it,_ but...

Derek was walking, head bent low in a textbook, not watching where he was going and yet seemingly always knowing when to slow and let somebody pass, tilt to the side as somebody flys by.

And he was wearing round glasses that engulfed his face, a scruffy jacket and dirty, scuffed sneakers.

Something in the way he moved, in the deep set of his permanent scowl as his eyes roved over the page, caught Stiles' attention. And then he began cataloging his features, and Stiles abruptly realised that underneath his baggy clothes and unwelcoming persona, he was really quite attractive.

His hair was thick; an inky, rich colour of black, his cheeks smooth and rosy. His eyes were clear and even from a distance, startlingly intense. A lock of hair fell across his bent forehead, he brushed it away with a hand.

Stiles had promptly been knocked into because he had stopped in the middle of the hallway. Someone bumped his shoulder and his bag fell from his grip, and when he looked up after he had sorted himself out again, he was met with the view of Derek's back.

*

So Stiles had done some research. Found out a few key points of interest. Just little things.

Derek was the only brother of two sisters and the son of two loving parents, he enjoyed reading literature and playing sports, he was on the swimming team at a the competitive national level, he had few friends, although they were the most popular in the whole school, he rarely spoke, and excelled in every subject he sat. He studied for hours each night and got up early each morning, enjoyed routine and structure and disliked anything that disrupted that. He was neat and organised and lined his pens up in a row, used color-coded notes and systematically pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose every couple of minutes.

Derek Hale was sought after by the school populace because there was so little known of him, but if people would just dig a little deeper, open up their eyes and see.

He rarely spoke to people but smiled openly with his sisters, talked animatedly with the handful of people he actually let divert his attention away from reading. He wore a surly expression but walking to school, he always checked his pockets for spare change when passing people sat huddled on the street, and if he didn't have any, he gave part of his lunch. He frowned at anyone and everyone but always, always bent to pat the head of any dog at any opportunity he got. And he turned girls down but he always, always, always picked up Mrs Pankhurst's cat when it was raining and brought him inside and kissed the top of his furry head when he had to let him go again.

He's beautiful. Utterly, starkly beautiful. Everything about him is beautiful, from the grace of the curve to his jaw to his kindness for strangers, his love of animals.

Stiles has never felt this way for anyone before.

He'd thought his childhood crush on Lydia Martin had been him set for life, until he realised that sweaty palms and a beating heart didn't constitute as love.

What constituted as love, for Stiles, was an aching fondness for somebody who he's never exchanged two words with.

It's concern when seeing that someone coughing and spluttering with the flu, sadness when they're away for a couple of days. Happiness and joy when they achieve a good grade, a terrifying mixture of nauseous ecstasy when in their presence whatsoever. He fell in love with Derek Hale over the course of freshman and sophomore year, and he is still in love with him today, nearly graduating.

And yet, Derek changed sophomore leading into junior year. He started dating Kate Argent, the college student from across town, and Stiles still can't figure out why.

He dressed differently, in leathers and Henley's, took off his glasses, and started taking notice of his appearance. He began talking to people, and in a few days was firmly situated inside the most popular group in their year. He grew more confidant in himself, more open to conversation, although with sharp, short replies and derisive facial expressions.

SAT's rolled around, Derek quit dating Kate, locked himself in his room for a week, got straight A's, had a party, and invited everyone in the school.

Nearly everyone. Stiles is cool with it.

For weeks after the breakup, Kate spread rumors and lies - that Derek was terrible in bed, he was secretly gay - but his friends (his many, many friends) all came to his defence, ripped Kate Argent down, and Derek's reputation was left intact - (plus if Stiles wanted one of the rumours to be just a little true, well, he wouldn't admit that to anyone.)

Derek matured after that, still kept his leather jacket, but stopped wearing contacts, put his old glasses back on and sat with a book in his hand around the lunch table. He was Derek, Stiles' Derek, and Stiles has never been so glad.

Glad because he had more people who cared about him, more people who extracted that earth shattering, unwillingly snorting laughter from him, were there for him at any point in the day. Derek was surer in himself, even though he still frowned, still appeared to the general public as egotistic. But Stiles felt something settle that had been unsettled for a long time, ever since Derek started hanging around Kate.

But then, Stiles leads a pretty hectic and unsettled lifestyle, what with being a vigilante and saving the world and all.

 

*  
*

To begin at the start, to really explain, it was during a school field trip to a science engineering lab in sophomore year that it happened.

Stiles hadn't really been paying attention to anything other than the stark curiosity on Derek's face that shone in his glasses as he gazed up at the technology, ran reverent fingers over the machinery.

Stiles was wandering aimlessly, taking idle notes and doodles in between surreptitiously flicking his eyes upwards to Derek's leather-clad back, and he had been in the middle of an impressive sketch when he realised he had lost half the class.

There was a door that led down a hallway, and it seemed perfectly plausible, so Stiles had pushed open the heavy metal, and came up short.

Now, if he were in possession of your typical fears and phobias, he would have let out a very manly screech. Instead, Stiles had raised his eyebrows in shock at the sight before him.

Spiders. Hundreds and hundreds of spiders, all in glass enclosures, spinning their webs, twirling, moving.

Stiles stepped a foot forward before he was even aware of it, coming closer. The spinning was methodical, almost mesmerising, and he crouched, lifted a finger to tap the glass.

Suddenly they were moving rapidly, the enclosures twirling around, and Stiles eyes were lit with the blue glow of the room, fascinated by the display, the whirring speed.

He left pretty quickly after that.

And then he had woken up the next morning, a foot taller, with webbing that shot uncontrollably from his hands, so he'd assumed it must have had something to do with it.

*

What he enjoys - apart from the adrenaline rush of stopping crime, swinging from skyscrapers, and the general feeling of goodwill when saving somebody's life - is the amount of leeway he has in seeing. He can potentially see everything.

And so he does. Everything on one particular matter.

Stiles wouldn't call himself a stalker.

He never looks inside Derek's bedroom window, even if the blinds are open, the lamplight is on and he could just sit and watch. He never, ever places any form of unwanted attention onto Derek; he doesn't purposefully bump into him in hallways, find places to meet him on the street.

Stiles never does anything to Derek or for Derek or near Derek that would warrant any kind of attention, and it's why he's kept invisible all these years. It's why Derek has no idea he exists. He was intending to keep it that way.

And now his plan has just been totally and royally screwed up.

Because now Derek is aware of him, sitting at their table and passing him in hallways, and every time those eyes set on his, Stiles wants to explode. He wants to physically combust.

This wasn't what it was meant to be like, this wasn't the deal. Stiles was supposed to stay quietly in love with Derek for the rest of his days and fight crime on the side. But now, he's a part of his friend group, there's no way to avoid him, and he has to suddenly sit up and realise that his little bubble of existence is not sustainable, that he can't follow Derek around for the rest of his life.

Because being in his proximity, no matter how awkward and painful, is the sweetest bliss Stiles has ever experienced, and suddenly he wants more, he isn't simply content with watching; he wants conversation, he wants laughter, he wants physical touch.

It's an agony he can't explain, because watching Derek make his way home, he wants to fall into step with him, imagines what would happen if he did, if he struck up a conversation - because he could, he could, they know each other, it wouldn't be odd.

They know each other in that vague, 'hey' head-nod kind of way, but still. He could.

He's wearing a pretty iconic spandex suit, though. So he might pass for tonight.

*

"And then, and _then,_ I felt something pulling at me, turned around, and my shorts just flew off. They must have caught on the door or something, because they just ripped right off like they were made of paper. And then the door stuck. So I'm standing in the middle of these revolving doors, in my underwear, and everybody walking past can see -”

The whole table is in hysterics, slapping their hands down and shaking their heads, Stiles grins triumphantly, hands waving as he continues.

"And it took a good twenty minutes until the maintenance guy came! I had to walk home with my shredded pair of running shorts, and a shredded pride."

"Stilinski wins! Most embarrassing story!" Erica declares.

Stiles fist-pumps the air dramatically as the rest of the group boo.

"Aw that's not fair! It's just because nobody is willing to share their most embarrassing story!" Isaac says.

"Hence why I clearly win." Stiles replies smugly, and the others laugh.

"But how does that work?" Derek suddenly pipes up. The table silences, and Stiles startles at Derek addressing him.

"How did your shorts just come off?"

Stiles flushes from the close proximity of Derek, of his sole attention all focused on him, and flutters his hands up uselessly. "I don't know! It just happened! I didn't do it on purpose!"

There's a tick to the side of Derek's mouth. "I've never heard of anybody losing their shorts to a revolving door."

"You better believe it, buddy." He says humorously, adrenaline from simply exchanging words with Derek emboldening him, making him almost breathless.

When Derek huffs, Stiles sits straighter, chest widening, and feels pride radiate from his pores. He feels like Superman.

__*_ _

He's started talking to Derek Hale. _He's started talking to Derek Hale._

**_He has started talking to Derek Hale._ ******

They share glances in the hallway. Derek will look up from the page he's reading and look straight at Stiles, straight through him, give him a tilt of his head, a smile. Stiles will grin back, skip the rest of the way to class.

At the lunch table, he'll snort at something Stiles will say, shake his head. And he'll reply, engage Scott into the conversation, try to involve them both.

Stiles knows that Derek is only making an effort because he realises all his friends have taken to them, and he's pretty sure he heard Boyd talking to him quietly before pointing to Scott and raising his eyebrows. Derek has been more open since then.

But being open, friendly, and liking somebody are two very different things. He realises this. And so, he's struck up a plan. He is going to secure Derek's affections.

Ever since he began talking to him, he realised he wanted more. Realised that more was actually a possibility, nebulous and fragile but still, a possibility.

All he has to do is become Derek's friend, become his best friend, change his sexuality whilst he himself miraculously becomes attractive, and voila. Simple.

__*_ _

He slides into his usual seat at lunch and immediately gets caught up in the conversation, laughing and joking with Erica and Danny, teasing Jackson, complimenting Lydia and Malia. After a while he eases out, eats his sandwich and nods silently if anybody addresses him, quietly fading into the background.

Once he's sure everybody is distracted or occupied with something or someone else, he reaches out with a hand and presses a finger into the back of the novel Derek is reading, tilting it upwards to see the title, something he's never been able to do.

He nods approvingly when he sees A Thousand Splendid Suns, looks up to find two shrewd eyes on him, although Derek doesn't push his hand away.

"Any good?" He asks casually.

Derek raises an eyebrow, lifts the book up higher to illustrate the dog-eared pages.

"So it's good." He concludes. Derek's mouth ticks, and he goes back to reading.

"So." Stiles coughs awkwardly, swallowing. "What's it about?" He tries.

The whole table groan, and he glances up in surprise, unaware they were watching.

"You don't want to ask Derek what a book is about." Danny warns.

"Why not?" Stiles frowns, feeling abruptly defensive of him.

"Because he'll sigh for the thousandth time and say, 'it's hard to explain.'"

"Or, 'it's too long, you'd have to really read it for yourself.'"

"Maybe I will." He says confidently.

He finds it in the library, and reads it in a night. As soon as he comes into school, he's flopping down beside Derek.

"Whoa. Just whoa."

Derek bookmarks his page and turns to him curiously.

"I mean, that was mind-blowing. Mariam's whole struggle, her whole life. And then Laila -"

Stiles can say with confidant surety that he has never seen a person's face light up like Derek's does in that moment. His heart swells in excitement as Derek grins.

"How far along are you?" He asks quickly, twisting his body fully to Stiles.

"I finished! I had to, I was sobbing, I couldn't -”

Derek lets out a laugh.

"I couldn't stop without knowing they were alright!"

They spend the whole lunchtime talking, and lo and behold, Derek gives him his number, telling him to text him after school and they'll talk more. He's vibrating with energy by the end of the day, jumping up and down on his toes. When he gets home he immediately texts, despite how eager it makes him seem.

To Derek _ _  
_ Why didn't the skeleton go to the dance? _

From Derek  
_I'm gonna make a wild guess and say this is stiles_

To Derek  
_Yes, but c'mon you gotta say the punchline_

From Derek  
_This is stupid I'm not doing it_

To Derek  
_I'm not going to leave you alone until you do_

From Derek _ _  
_ Is it because a skeleton can't move because it's oh I don't know DEAD _

To Derek  
_Hah wrong it's because he had noBODY to go with, clever right?_

From Derek _ _  
_ I'm already regretting giving you my number _

To Derek  
_Hey that joke is hilarious_

From Derek _ _  
_ Yeah to a four year old _

To Derek  
_You're just mad because you didn't get it right_

From Derek _ _  
_ that's totally my issue here _

To Derek _ _  
_ There's no need to be so grumpy all the time_

_C'mon live a little_

From Derek  
_I can't deal with you right now_

To Derek  
_That wounds me_  
_Derek?_

He bites his thumbnail, waiting, and then gives it five seconds.

To Derek _ _  
_ Wow rude, you should at least say bye _

In return he’s bombarded, and he means bombarded, by a list of books.

From Derek  
_Of Mice And Men_  
_The Book Thief_  
_Brave New World_  
_The Collector_  
_Catch 22_  
_then we can talk_

He makes about a million trips to the library, and leaves with his arms full of books, but he's grinning from ear to ear.

 

*  
They share recommendations and reviews like spit-fire, and eventually, he's gravitated to sitting beside Derek at their table, closer and closer until their heads are bent and they're arguing and agreeing ceaselessly.

The others notice, and he tries to rein in his enthusiasm, his no-doubt glowing happiness at Derek shifting to gesture to the available space beside him, anytime they pass reading in the hallway and Derek smirks in approval.

God, he is so gone. He was gone before, but now he's truly, completely gone. Lost. There's no hope, no return.

Erica catches his arm at his locker, and his heart slams painfully into his ribcage.

"Hey." She says, smiling.

"I -” His eyes are wide, knowing what she's about to say, mentally preparing the speech, the denial, the -

"We're all going out for dinner, was wondering if you wanted to come?"

He relaxes, breathing a sigh of relief. "So this is me like - officially part of the group?"

She laughs, rolling her eyes.

"I mean, is there like - a signed document? A ceremony?"

"Are you free or not?" Erica asks.

"I'll try and make the time." He says magnanimously.

"Derek's coming." She says, casually inspecting her nails.

He waits a minute. "Cool." He replies, closing his locker and zipping up his bag. She just continues to smile.

He spends just over an hour standing in front of the mirror, freshly showered and freaking out because he has absolutely nothing, nothing in his wardrobe whatsoever, he has no clothes, none.

Okay he has clothes. But _nothing._

To: Scott  
_bdjdnkfnajdbrjxnksnk_  
_fhagdjdndj_  
_Jkdnsjz_

From: Scott _ _  
I'm coming over_ _

 

__*_ _

"Are you _sure _,__ though?" He asks for the third time.

"Stiles, you look good, stop worrying."

"But do I look _the best I have ever looked?"_

Scott sighs noisily out through his nostrils, turning with a flat look at Stiles.

Stiles is wearing a plaid button-down and jeans, perfectly presentable, but he can't help smooth a hand down his hair, check his breath every few minutes.

"Yes. Now can we please focus on the fact that I asked Kira out for dinner and she invited everybody."

Stiles snorts. "Dude, you're solid. She's so into you."

Scott's expression morphs into something hopeful. "You think?"

"I know. I see things." He taps his nose.

"Yeah, yeah." Scott shoves him. "Don't joke."

"I'm not!" He says indignantly as they near the diner. "I'm being so serious right now, if you don't know yet, man, there's no hope."

He pushes open the door with his back and immediately there's a cheer as they're spotted and called over. Scott gives his open, happy grin as they're welcomed, and Stiles can't help but feel the same happiness for these people.

He sets himself down grinning; and almost knocks himself unconscious with the double take he makes when he sees Derek.

His hair is just-washed and fluffing up, thick and dark, his face shaven and smooth, and he's wearing his leather jacket, hugging across his shoulders and chest.

Underneath he's wearing a soft shirt, open slightly at the collar.

Stiles doesn't know how he's going to survive this.

He busies himself with the menus and tries not to let his cheeks burn too obviously.

Derek nods at him before going back to his conversation with Boyd, and Stiles nods back, flustered. Throughout the wait for drinks he keeps his eyes down, not wanting to give anything away.

Stiles and Derek order the same thing, coincidentally, and yet as he goes to bite into the burger, his mouth is filled with the weirdest concoction of textures, and the most disgusting blend of flavours, he's struck still, mouth agape, unsure what to do.

He and Derek's eyes meet across the table, only not in a spark of romantic connection he had hoped for, but in complete, abject horror. He can't help but grin with rising hysteria at the expression of desperation in Derek's eyes, and Derek's mouth begins to wobble as he tries to contain his food.

Stiles bursts out laughing. The sound is garbled and strange through the mushed abomination, and Derek shakes his head, grinning, hunching over his shoulders.

The group stop and frown, and Stiles nods, pointing to his mouth, and tries to relay the mixture of emotions, frowning in puzzlement and wrinkling his nose in distaste and then widening his eyes in revulsion, and Derek just explodes in laughter, snorts his whole mouthful all over the table and flushes the darkest shade of red he's ever seen.

"You knob what, 'our wright." He nods profusely and simply spits the mushed mess onto his plate.

The attention is then drawn to him and Derek just erupts, laughing so loud and so hard he has to tip his head backwards, gasping in pain, and Stiles joins in, chuckling into his drink and sniffling diet coke into his napkin, and then the whole table is laughing, and Derek isn't embarrassed, and he's looking at Stiles as if he's the best thing he's ever seen.

He goes home smiling, settles underneath his covers, closes his eyes to the image of that look, for him, all his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the [ graphic ](https://margaretpens.tumblr.com/post/160693760815/to-watch-derek-hale-squirm-in-a-suit-is-one-of-the) for the story, no photos mine!


	2. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles-centric

_1 year 2 months ago_

He shuffles into the bathroom blearily, scrubbing his face and scratching idly at the patch of hair along his stomach. Yawns, then opens his eyes.

Frowns. Tilts his head forward, then rears back. Touches careful fingers to his cheek.

He looks - odd. Different. His features are sharper. He blinks widely at his startlingly clear reflection. Shakes his head, then steps into the shower.

And smacks himself against the shower head.

"Mother of - shit." Comes the gasped curse. "Holy - _Jeh-sus."_

He brings a hand up to rub the back of his head, only it thwacks against the ceiling. "Ow! What -" Stiles glances down wildly in confusion, stands still and breathes for a moment.

"Okay." He says. "Alright."

Stiles brings his gaze back up and comes level with the nozzle. He stares in bewilderment. He's almost sure he's never had to crouch before; that the spray of water has always hit directly across his back.

"Okay." He repeats. Detaches the head, and just about develops osteoporosis as he attempts to bend and twist, the wire getting caught around his elbow at one point.

Stiles washes quickly, dries himself down, and picks his toothbrush from the cabinet. He goes for the toothpaste, squeezes as he always does.

Nothing happens.

He frowns down at the dry bristles and slowly brings his eyes upwards.

There's a glob smeared across the whole mirror.

Stiles blinks again, then he wipes some off with the end of his brush. Turns the tap on.

"Oh for-- fuck!" Stiles growls as he's doused in water, finally managing to secure the faucet back on.

He waits a beat. Looks around. Stares down at his open palms, the familiar lines. He brushes his teeth very, very slowly. Takes careful, tiptoeing steps across the bathroom. Touches the tips of two fingers to the door, and it opens.

 

*

"Bye dad!" Stiles calls behind him, scrambling for toast and his rucksack, throwing on his jacket and jumping for the door.

That just rips off the side of the wall.

"Hoh my God." He gasps in horror looking at the door in his hands.

"You have got to be kidding me." He hisses. He sets the door down very gently. Looks down the hallway, hesitates, then bolts.

  
*

"Okay." He says to his hands, sat on his lap, the table lamp illuminating him in a half-glow. "Alright."

He's not freaking out. Why would he be freaking out? His hands produce webs. That's nothing to freak out about. Actual webbing comes out of his skin. Which never used to before.

He had thought he was ill. The night he'd come back from the laboratory, he spent awake in a cold sweat, having feverish dreams.

He could hear noises from downstairs, outside, even from the street; the clamour of cars and people just so. Loud.

His dad had fallen asleep on the couch, his breaths a soft whistling. There was a couple on the sidewalk, laughing, their words garbled and strange. There were people eating, the sounds of their jaws working, the mushed, wet noise, right beside his ear.

The humming of the air conditioner a buzz underneath his skin.

Stiles had convinced himself he was hallucinating, a twenty-four hour delirium kind of thing.

And he'd woken up feeling fine. Great, even.

And now, webs are coming out of his hands.

"Okay." He whispers again.

It only happened once, in school. He reached for his tray and something had spurted out from his sleeve. Stiles stared, horrified, then promptly ran.

Now he sits, waiting, watching the blue veins on the underside of his wrists warily.

"C'mon." He huffs. Nothing.

"Go!" He flings his hand out. Sighs when there is no reaction.

"You go web?" He attempts. "Uh - now!"

Each and every effort is met with no result.

"Boom!", "Uh - web time!", "Shih-damn!", "Pow-wow!", "Time to - do the web!", "Oh _c'mon!"_

He's not imagining things, he is not. He growls in exasperation, balls his hands and presses a thumb down on his pulse point. A small, thin string shoots out of one of the crevices on the inside of his wrist. He freezes, stares.

Curls his fingers inwards and applies pressure onto his skin as he throws his hand out, index and pinkie finger extended. The webbing flies across the room and latches onto the lamp.

He breathes, struck dumb.

Stiles does what he does best.

He researches.

*

_Scientists have uncovered why spiders’ webs are able to withstand huge forces. Researchers claim the findings could be used to help design a new generation of super strength materials --_

_Electrical properties within the glue-like coating on a spider web alter the magnetic field around it --_

_radioactive mutagenic enzymes in a spider's venom quickly cause numerous body-wide changes, such --_

_the use of "genetically engineered" spiders --_

_taking over neighbouring cells and actually becoming ingrained in the person's DNA --_

_connective tissues, muscles, and nervous system all enhanced --_

_grow spinnerets in forearms that terminate in small pores at the junction of the wrists --_

_pressing down with middle fingers to palm cause the pores to open and the spinnerets to eject organic fluid with a force equal to that of spider --_

_immunology is the study of the body's defence --_

_microbiology with particular emphasis on prevention, treatment and pathogenicity of infectious diseases --  
molecular and cellular biology combines genetics and biochemistry to understand the function of living cells, tissues and organisms -- _

_career prospects in biomedical and biotechnological industries --_

_the questions you have asked are very interesting and I would like to discuss in more detail --_

_extremely suited --_

_talents would be very applicable to this course --_

_would very much like to take you on board --_

Stiles thunks his head against the desk.

 

*  
He goes back to the laboratory, sneaks in after hours.

Stiles figures that's where he'll find most of his answers.

He must have been bitten. Only there's no wound, and the spiders are all in glass cases. Enclosed.

He stares for a while, crouched low and frowning. Scratches his arm, the back of his neck.

He feels a strange tingling sensation in the base of his skull the longer he watches them. As he's scratching he comes across a small, raised lump on the back of his neck.

He presses his fingers to it, and hisses, grimacing.

"Right." He says. "Just great. Didn't even notice you were bitten by an _insect_ kept in a _cage_ in a __science lab.__ Really, Stillinski. Dad would be proud."

Predictably, the spiders don't reply. They just spin, unnervingly continuous.

He decides he'll return.

 

*  
On his way home, he's waiting for the  traffic lights to switch when he notices a little boy with his mother.

The mom is trying to placate him, and he twists out of her grip, rubs his eye with a tiny fist and runs out into traffic.

Stiles doesn't realise his web has reached out and secured him until he's reeling him back in, and the boy comes to knock into his legs.

"Hey there, little buddy." He places a hand on his shoulders and quickly undoes the web, throwing it away.

"Jacob!" A frantic voice is heard over the noise of the road. "Jacob!"

"Uh, here." Stiles swings the little boy into his arms as the woman comes rushing over.

"Oh, God, thank you --" She begins.

"Hey, it's no - no need." He deposits him back into her arms. The little boy is quiet, and his hands grip into his mother’s jacket tightly. She nods tightly before walking away.

He watches them leave.

 

*  
He compartmentalises.

Stiles wants to use this in some way, but not to his advantage. He's been given powers, powers that nobody else has. As cheesy as it sounds, Stiles feels as if he has to do something with them, use them for the greater good. He's been given them - he feels it's his responsibility. 

His father is the sheriff - he was taught by the best.

So he needs a suit, and equipment. And he's going to have to specialise it himself.

The thing he needs most is subtlety. Stiles can't allow himself to be discovered. Allow the public to find out, for researchers and scientists to string him up in some lab and run tests on him. For the media to explode with his name, his face. He can't involve the world in this.

He can't involve his dad.

He needs a name. Okay, and if he's going to be a superhero, he needs a superhero name.

'The Spider.' He rolls the idea around in his head. Too sinister.

'The Spider-Man.' Still sounds creepy and antagonistic. Too clunky.

'Spider-Man.' He thinks simply.

Short, concise. Spider-Man.

But he needs some kind of identity. Something unassuming and normal enough. Something believable - not too typically clichéd. Not Smith, too obvious. But nothing too unique, a name that might pipe curiosity.

He needs an alter ego. Somebody who can separate Spider-Man from him - from the media, the press, prying eyes when they try to find him, the man behind the mask.

Somebody who can make sure Spider-Man is never linked to Stiles.

A faceless person that can keep Spider-Man anonymous. Keep him safe.

Peter Parker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so sorry about the lack of Sterek in this one - but I was going to draft-post chapter 2 and guess what.
> 
> It's too big to be one chapter. It's too goddamn big. I'm telling you now - 100k. This is gonna turn out to be.
> 
> All information I found across the internet. For reference - Stiles was emailing professors complex questions and answering theirs, so that's how he caught their attention and a few universities offered him a place


	3. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is _a lot _better than last, and I can promise, the ball starts rolling from here on out!__

_Spotted again amidst the streets of New York, 'Spider-Man' today managed to stop a high-speed car chase with cooperation from the state police. He flew alongside the vehicle and communicated with the driver, relaying the information back to the officers behind. ___

_He successfully talked down the 37 year old man, a mister Robert Gonzalez, and prevented any complications. He is becoming an integral part to the safety of New York citizens, and before long, will be integral to the state police department. ___

_Many are still unsure about the masked hero that claims he only wants to help others, but so far that is all the young man has done. Maybe he has the ability to bring something to the crime scene that police officers are still unable to. Either way, you better be watching the sky. ___

*  
_Present ___

Stiles watches Derek from across the street, legs dangling over the edge of the skyscraper, arms crossed and mouth thinning to a line.

Derek has a cold.

His nose is dry and running, eyes red-rimmed and watering. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand, hacking up his lungs, swallows thickly, adjusts his glasses, and goes back to the paper he's reading.

Everybody gets colds in winter. But if he would stop wearing that idiotic leather jacket and put on something with a bit of material, take a few days off, and maybe actually -

There's a shout, and the sound of a bullet. Stiles glances quickly; only to see a man slam his car hood down, splattered in petrol. He relaxes, glances back to--

Derek is crossing the road on a yellow light as a gust of wind carries away his sheets of paper and scatters them across the whole road.

He goes to retrieve them, stepping into the line of an oncoming truck.

Stiles has swung across the street, grabbed Derek and is flying before he even takes a breath.

"Wh!" Derek shouts. "My!"

Stiles' web reaches back, collects all the strewn articles and binds them inside a tight folder of cobweb.

"That was pretty close!" He says cheerily to distract himself from mind-numbing hysteria flooding his brain in white noise.

"My essay!" Derek scrambles against the arm around his waist.

"Oh, you mean this?" He exchanges the papers from the hand holding Derek to his other, so that it simply appears from thin air.

"Wh." Derek says, aghast, glancing up. "Spider-Man." He says in realisation.

"The one and only. You mind taking this? I only got two arms."

Derek reaches with his hand not around Stiles' shoulder and plucks his essay from Stiles's hand. He stares at Stiles' web in shock. Stiles finally manages to soar away from traffic and sidewalks, and safely deposits Derek on top of an office building.

Traffic, God, how he hates rush hour traffic. Of all the casualties - they always seem to happen on a road. And for god's sake is Derek _nuts? ___

__Derek stumbles, and Stiles steadies him, his pulse on overdrive._ _

__"Word of advice? If it was Leo Tolstoy that wrote that essay, still not worth it." He states._ _

__Derek blinks, his eyes huge underneath his glasses. "I."_ _

__"Didn't see the truck headed your way?"_ _

__Derek stares. "You saved my life." He says blankly. "Spider-Man just saved my life. Okay."_ _

__Stiles' heart is hammering, and his blood is a rushing current in a wild river._ _

__"Where you headed?" He asks, even though he already knows. He needs to distract himself._ _

__"What?" Derek frowns._ _

__"Places to go, people to see. I'm guessing you can't fly." He peers over the edge of the roof in a show, pretending to flail. "I'll take you."_ _

__"I was. I was headed to school." Derek says, then promptly splutters as he hacks up his lungs._ _

__"With that cough? I don't think so, buddy. Come on, I'll take you home."_ _

__Derek blinks. "I."_ _

__"I'm not taking you anywhere else."_ _

__Stiles waits. Derek purses his mouth when he sees he's not budging. "I. Alright."_ _

__Stiles raises his eyebrows. Derek sighs, realising that Spider-Man will have no idea where he lives._ _

__"Um. It's across the street."__

 _ _He swings Derek up again and flies them in the opposite direction of his house. "This street?" He breezes.__

__Derek is most likely in shock from being unexpectedly thrown in the air, has been having a bad day so far, is sick, tired, and has had a near death experience. Stiles wants to make him feel even a tiny bit better._ _

__This has nothing to do with reassuring himself with the warm weight of Derek in his arms._ _

__"Uh - no, it’s -" Derek starts._ _

__Stiles begins flying towards another street. "This one?"_ _

__Derek's mouth thins. "No, actually -"_ _

__Stiles flies expertly around the buildings of New York, pointing to street signs and traffic lights._ _

__"That one? Around there? Oh is it this one? It must be here."_ _

"No, I!" Derek is cut off as Stiles keeps rambling. 

"Over here? Down there? The other one? C'mon man! It must be one of them!" 

__Derek his nose chapped and red, his jaw clenched. "It's just back there! It's like two minutes away!" He shouts._ _

__Stiles gasps in outrage. "I pointed to there!"_ _

__Derek stares before he suddenly erupts into laughter, his head tilting back with the force, his eyes crinkling and his mouth opening, the long expanse of his neck stretching bare._ _

__"That was the first place I pointed to!" He cries as he makes his way over, Derek still laughing in his arms._ _

__"And then you had me running ragged all over New York City, demanding I sail across the sky after saving you AND your essay I might add! As I completely disregard my own health and safety and -"_ _

__He jumps down onto the fire escape and lets go of Derek._ _

__"Take you home." He finishes._ _

__Derek blinks, eyebrows raised. "Oh." He says, realising he's on his own fire escape. "How did?" He frowns._ _

__"You notice a lot, in the sky." He points a finger up._ _

__"Right." Derek says again, dumbly._ _

__"Alright, so I gotta go." He climbs up and over the railing. "But you." He points a finger. "Stay home until you're feeling better, take Tylenol at the recommended dose, slip on your pajamas and take a nap."_ _

__He turns as if to leave. "And oh!" He whips around. "Wait for the green light!"_ _

__He falls backwards and lets his web carry him._ _

__*  
He collapses into bed that night, and after the day’s events, he falls asleep to the sense memory of flying, of Derek's hands digging tight into his shoulders, the sound of his laugh._ _

__*  
School the next day is tiring. He falls into his seat, rummaging into his bag for his notebooks, until Scott comes up beside him and throws the daily newspaper onto his desk._ _

__"Wh -" he starts, then stops._ _

__Splashed across the front page of The Times is Spider-Man, swinging across New York, Derek secure in his arms in the midst of laughing, head tilted back as they fly._ _

__"Mind explaining?"_ _

__"Oh God, he's going to hate it." He says in horror, his only thought of Derek. "Scott, he's going to hate it."__

 _ _Derek hates it.__

__He's teased and poked and prodded and asked and spoken to all day, and his grin wavers, shoulders tensing, becoming tighter and tighter, winding in on himself in the face of all the attention._ _

He hates attention. He hates people pulling on the cover of his book and taking it from his hands and scolding him for being antisocial, and he hates, hates, _hates _the attention drawn to him._ _

__As they arrive at lunch, he can already hear the catcalls of the group._ _

__"Derek." Erica is wiping away tears as Derek grumbles, fishing for the issue of The Times she's waving. "You look like a damsel in distress."_ _

__"More like one of those provocative women draped across the guy’s chest in an erotic novel." Danny deadpans._ _

__"Right." Derek growls and finally rips the paper out from under their noses. "I was -" he gets out before sneezing convulsively, twice._ _

__"Derek, are you alright?" Stiles comes around, frowning._ _

__"Stiles." Derek says, just noticing him._ _

__"You don't look well, do you want me to take you to the nurse’s office?"_ _

__"Okay." He says firmly, standing up._ _

__Waiting outside on the plastic chairs, Derek sighs and scrubs at his face._ _

__"What happened?" Stiles asks, leaning close._ _

__Derek heaves a harsh breath. "I was walking across -" he begins monotonously._ _

__"No, no -" Stiles shakes his head. "What happened to make you look as if you might pass out?"_ _

__Derek huffs a laugh. "Thanks." He says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I just don't really like - all the -"_ _

__"Attention." Stiles finishes._ _

__Derek nods, sighing. "Anyway, I - " He starts._ _

__"I've called your mum, she's on her way." A nurse sidles up._ _

__Derek frowns. "I didn't ask you to -"_ _

__"Derek, you may as well go home. You're ill." Stiles intones._ _

__"Did you tell them to call my parents?"_ _

__Stiles scratches his ear. "No." He says unconvincingly._ _

__"But I need to be in school, I've got a project to hand in - "_ _

__"Give it to me." He interrupts._ _

__Derek looks conflicted. "The new meal deal is on today."_ _

__"I'll buy it for you and drop it off at your house."_ _

__"I." He searches for a moment. "But there's a bake sale on."_ _

__Stiles grins, trying to curb his fondness. "I can drop something off from that as well."_ _

__Derek frowns. "Why?" He asks._ _

__"Because." He shrugs awkwardly, realising he's probably giving too much of himself away. "You're my friend. You've had a pretty crappy day, and from what I hear, a near death experience."_ _

__Derek chuckles. "You could call it that."_ _

__"So." He says. "Go home, rest up, and come back when you're better." He says simply._ _

__Derek blinks at him for a moment, and Stiles looks down._ _

__"Do I have something on my shirt?" He asks the longer Derek doesn't say anything._ _

__"No." He says, and shakes his head blinking, as if dispelling a mental image. "No. You just sounded like someone."_ _

__"Okay." Stiles says easily. "So I'll bring your stuff over -"_ _

__"How do you know where I live?" Derek inquires suddenly._ _

__"I would've just texted you." He waves a hand._ _

__Derek continues to stare, and Stiles suddenly feels hot and exposed under that all too knowing gaze, although he's unsure why._ _

__"Derek?" A woman appears, tucks a strand of long, silken black hair behind her ear and frowns in an oddly fond way. "I told you, sweetheart, you shouldn't have come in today."_ _

__"I." Derek stutters, drawn away from Stiles. "Hi, mum."_ _

__"And who's this?" She turns._ _

__Okay. No big deal. It's just meeting the parents - not like this first impression means anything._ _

__"Hi." Stiles stands gracefully and thrusts a hand out. "I'm Stiles, one of Derek's friends."_ _

__"Hello." Talia Hale takes his hand warily, and he grips her's for a moment before letting go. "It's nice to meet you. I don't think Derek's mentioned you before."_ _

__His expression twists into a self-conscious grimace. "I'm rather unremarkable, I'm afraid."_ _

__"We've only started talking! We never even knew each other before!" Derek frowns defensively, face crumpling into a scowl, only the effect is ruined with his runny, wet nose._ _

__"Alright, sweetheart." Talia replies, smiling._ _

__Derek clenches his jaw. "Mum, could you please not -"_ _

__She holds up her hands. "Okay, okay, are you coming?"_ _

__Derek stands and shoulders his bag, stifling a cough and surreptitiously wiping the back of his hand over his nose._ _

__"Right." Stiles claps his hands. "I should get back to class. I'll be by after school, Derek."_ _

As he's walking down the hallway, he distantly hears Derek's mum lean close and murmur, "He seems nice - ", only for Derek to cut her off with a hissed, _"mum." ___

__He rounds the corner grinning, and the last thing he hears before he's out of earshot is the sound of Talia's heels abruptly stalling, and a, "Is that you in that picture, Derek?"_ _

___*_  
*  
They've started to call him, 'The Amazing Spider-Man.' A hero, a legend.  


He was a rookie, an amateur in the beginning, a potential threat to the public. Then he was a topical debate. A political and social issue. A controversial matter. 

__Then he was Spider-Man. An icon._ _

__Now, he's a celebrity. He's amazing._ _

___*_  
*  
_Abilities still unknown, the masked vigilante, known as 'Spider-Man', rumoured to be the teenager 'Peter Parker', is often seen at road accidents and other emergencies, most famously the multiple vehicle collision on the interstate last month. He managed to rescue seven civilians before there was a major explosion. Some wounded, but no fatalities were reported._

_He has also been known to involve himself in crime scenes, his latest being a drug trafficking operation across the border. He managed to postpone the event with, and there are many testimonies to this, a 'quick wit' and 'distracting hand gestures', until the police managed to arrive and secure the area._

_However, his latest stunt had seemingly no purpose._

_Eye witness accounts strongly agree that there was no need for The Amazing Spider-Man to swing across and lift a pedestrian, now identified as Derek Hale, up and drop him off at his apartment. Many believe the hero was simply doing a friend a favour, other believe it was a display of romantic interest._

_The 17 year old high school student has refused to release an official statement, although Vernon Boyd, a close friend of his, has said;_

_"Derek just wants to live a normal life. He isn't being rude. At the moment he's quite unwell, and he just wants to be left alone."_

_This has spurred much reaction on social media, with both support and derisiveness. Many photos of the young source of attention illustrate the teenager as rather unfriendly, and almost aggressive._

_One reporter valiantly declares that the boy pushed him when questioned as he walked home from school, although from various footage it appears Mr Hale simply sneezed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! So things are actually happening! _Finally! ___


	4. Familiarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know this has taken forever to update, but from now on this will be frequent and I'm practically finished, I promise scouts honour
> 
> My beta has edited this whole fic to characterise Derek better, I would recommend reading again

Stiles sways back on his feet, both hands in front of him and holding the lunch protectively to his chest.

He only has to wait a few beats before the door is opening and Laura appears, beaming wide and friendly.

"Hey! Derek said you'd be by." She grins.

"Oh hi." He says awkwardly, unused to such a warm welcome, and the lines of her body soften against the doorframe as she tilts, smiling at him in a reassuring manner.

"Just come on in."

"Oh - alright. Uh, should I just - put it down." He gestures to the kitchen countertop. She nods, flicking her hair over her shoulder and calling up the stairs. A moment later Derek appears, glasses askew and hair in a disarray, soft cotton pants hanging low on his hips, a loose sweater over his body.

Stiles gulps.

"Hey." He says shortly as he comes down. He peers inside the paper bag and immediately raises eyebrows.

"How did you know these are my favourite?" He asks.

Stiles stammers. "I uh. Everyone likes blueberry muffins?" He tries.

Derek accepts that answer with a nod and then pulls out his lunch.

"So Stiles?" Laura begins. "Derek says you're in his grade. How come we've never seen you around?"

Derek looks up curiously from his sandwich for the reply.

"Oh, uh. Just - me and Scott have been bros for life since kindergarten, but ever since he began talking to Kira, he's been talking to everyone, and by association - I've been talking to everyone." He flaps around, embarrassed.

It's obvious he's unpopular. In some ways he is so, so thankful for that. In being Spider-Man, there's no way he could be popular. He'd be found in a minute.

He's smart, clever - but if he were as notorious as Derek Hale, as admired as Lydia Martin, as adored as Danny Mahealani - he wouldn't last a minute. It would be so obvious - because people would recognise him. People would see.

But he's spent years blending into the background, the white brick walls of Beacon Hills High, and because of that, he's been able to remain unrecognisable. An unidentifiable Peter Parker, the average Joe.

And in some ways, he's human. He's embarrassed by his lack of friends, and only sometimes, upset by it. He's universally loved as Spider-Man, but as Stiles, he's invisible.

And now, well now he's gaining friends, talking to Derek, someone he never thought would ever lay eyes on him. And it's - it's terrifying and wonderful at once.

Only he has to remain unremarkable. Has to remain a nobody. He can't go to the parties and the outings, can't begin to get noticed. Can't begin to gain popularity.

He's been talking to the most infamous group of people in his school for nearly a month, spending time with them, and yet, Laura Hale in the year above has never seen him - because he purposefully blends in.

"Well, you should have started talking to everyone sooner." Derek says around his wrap.

Stiles feels the way heat spreads across his whole body, from his very toes to his fingertips, upwards throughout his chest, the fumes curling around his neck, suffusing his cheeks.

"Oh, uh. Right. Yeah." He flounders. Derek grins for a moment, and he honestly isn't sure how he manages to not keel over right then and there, like a stunned raccoon.

*  
Something changes after that. It's subtle, but feels a lot like acceptance.

In the first week, everyone very clearly opened their arms to Scott and him, pulling them over, acknowledging them in the hallways. They couldn't have done any more.

But now, they don't have to call over. It's the given - there are seats waiting for them as soon as they're out of class. Suddenly his phone blows up with messages every weekend; he's expected to be at the group outings.

The subtle shift comes from Derek. He still has his head stuck in a book, still hardly speaks, but he's more open in some way towards them. Less closed off, stiff and unwelcoming. He glances up with a quick smile to them as they sit before resuming his reading. He acknowledges them. The feeling is like nothing else.

When Derek glances with his smile up at Scott, Scott gives a friendly bro-nod. When he does the same with Stiles;

Well. Stiles trips up over his left foot, clips himself on the nose with a flailing hand, flushes so hard he's pretty sure he turns radioactive, collapses into the seat in a gangly heap of limbs and grins back so hard he goes cross-eyed with the force.

So not totally cool. It could have been a lot worse, he honestly isn't going to lie.

*

Stiles is working his Saturday shift at the little restaurant cafe down south. It's a nicely lit little place, with candles on the tables and fairy lights across the booths.

It's a place you would discover hidden inside an alcove, a secret.

He enjoys working for the atmosphere, but sometimes it's just a distraction from the chaos of his life, of being Spider-Man. Even though the manual labour of wiping down tables, loading and unloading dishwashers and scraping food off the floor is hardly something someone would be glad to do.

He enjoys it. It's quiet, peaceful. Almost nobody comes in on a Saturday afternoon, at least, nobody he knows.

Which is why he's surprised when Derek, his mum and his two sisters come in and are seated at a table, smiling and talking. Stiles blinks in surprise as soon as he spots that familiar mop of black hair and immediately starts cursing, wiping hands down the front of his grease-stained apron and running fingers through his disarrayed hair.

He takes a calming breath, pulls the pen from behind his ear and sidles up casually to their table, notepad in hand.

"And what can I do for you today?"

Derek looks up and frowns. "Stiles?" He asks.

Stiles grins widely, although he feels his cheeks heat, his palms beginning to sweat. "The one and only. How are you?"

"I'm good thanks, how are you?" Derek answers.

"Alright. I'm only in for a few hours. Been a bit slow today, although I can hardly complain about that." He laughs a little awkwardly, and Derek laughs with him, out of politeness.

He takes their orders, tries not to let his hands shake as he sets down the drinks. Derek has ordered a chicken salad, and he's determined to make it the best chicken salad he's ever ate in his life. He pulls the good chicken out from the back of the fridge, he even hand-picks the lettuce himself.

Watching Derek Hale's expression change from pleasant agreement while listening to Laura into something like surprised pleasure makes his whole week. He finishes everything on his plate, and as they're leaving, he catches Stiles up by the till.

"Hi." He says, nodding shortly.

"Hey." Stiles ducks his head, pretending to count money.

"Um. You must think it's a little odd. Going out with your mum and your sisters."

Stiles thinks that if Derek knew how much he was in love with him, he would, quite frankly, be scared.

"No way, you kidding?" He answers instead. "The only person I hang out with is my dad." He waves casually as Derek chuckles.

"Anyway, I was just blindsided."

Stiles leans across the counter and whispers conspiratorially. "Wondering how somebody can look this good in an apron?"

Derek bursts out laughing.

"I get it a lot." He confides.

"Something like that." Derek laughs, and shakes his head. "I better get going."

"Bye!" He flaps his towel waving and almost catches himself in the eye. Derek is still laughing.

*

In New York, there isn't much happening. All he sees is petty crime, drunkards on the street, brawls in back-alleys. Not really something he can swoop down and save someone from.

He should have known to be careful what he wished for.

*  
He sees the smoke in the distance, rising fast. Then sees the fire.

*

"Okay, okay, just look at me. Just look - hey, hey. It's going to be fine, hey, look at me."

The girl’s eyes are wide and panicked. She's only in an oversized t-shirt and pink underwear, and she pulls the hem down over her bare thighs, hands shaking.

She's in a corner, backing away from the flames, but further into the room.

He tries to lean forward, as far as he can go, arm painfully outstretched.

"Just look at me. That's it. Do you think you can take my hand? No just, just ignore all that. It's not important. Ignore everything but me. Just keep looking at me. That's it."

Her arm reaches out tentatively, but retracts.

"Okay, I'm going to promise you something. I'm going to promise you that you'll be fine, absolutely fine, and that we'll both get out of this. But only if you take my hand. You don't have to do anything but take my hand. That's all. I'll do the rest. But you have to do this for me."

She takes his hand. He does the rest.

*  
_BREAKING NEWS_

_The Amazing Spider-Man Strikes Again!_

_In a dashing act of bravery and selflessness, Spider-Man takes to the flames as no other would, not even experienced firefighters. Most of the family were safe but were desperate to go back; because Lucy, their fifteen year old daughter, was still trapped inside._

_In an exclusive interview, Lucy speaks out on the traumatic ordeal;_

_"He was so calm, and because of that, he kept me calm. He told me he would get us out, I just had to trust him. As soon as I did, he saved my life. I think Spider-Man gets a bad reputation of being juvenile; power hungry and idolising our comic heroes. I think he really, honestly does good, he saves lives, and I can never repay him for saving mine."_

_"And there you have it." The news reporter gestures to the crumbled ashes. "What could have been a tragic casualty, was merely a tragic loss of the Wilson's family's belongings and their past. But our story could have been much worse._

_It could have been the Wilson family's tragic loss of their teenage daughter. There is only one man to thank: Spider-Man."_

__  
*_ _

He's just slammed the car door behind him and shaken the rainwater off when he sees Derek, jacket collar up and walking, slumped against the rain.

"Dad! Dad, stop the car!"

John brakes, glancing up quickly. Stiles is out of the car and leaning over the roof to shout at Derek.

"Derek!"

His head whips up and he stops.

"Derek! I can give you a lift!" He screeches, hands cupping his mouth.

Derek shakes his head. "No - I! I'm getting picked up!" He points to a car down the hill.

"Are you sure?!"

"Yeah!" Derek grins, shakes his head, and runs the short distance to his car. Before stepping in he waves frantically, and Stiles waves back. He's about to close the door again when Derek rolls down the window and shouts, "I forgot - I had a book to give you!" He cries through the downpour.

Stiles' clothes are soaked, his skin is wet and he's shivering from the cold, but he reaches over and takes the book. "Thank you!"

"Right!"

"I'll see you - "

"Okay, Stiles, get back in the car." His dad grabs his belt and tugs him down, and he flops back into the seat, grinning.

*

He gets in, takes a shower, and pats himself dry.

From Erica  
 _You coming tonight?_

He swallows, tapping his thumb against the screen. Pinches his eyebrows, and throws his phone on the bed.

He kneels by his backpack and reaches inside, feeling the familiar material.

This is his life. This was his choice.

*  
When Stiles gets to the lab the next time, he walks in and...

This is not what he was expecting.

"Uh, Stiles?" Derek asks from his position of being perched over a microscope, a pair of goggles hanging around his neck.

He pushes his glasses up and straightens. "I'm allowed in here." He tells him.

Stiles stands frozen by the doorway, one hand on the strap of his backpack. "Uh." He blinks.

Some of the tension leaves Derek's shoulders at that, and he huffs. "You aren't allowed in here either." He concludes.

"Um." He replies eloquently.

Derek's mouth ticks. "So what are you doing here?"

"I - I wanted to do some research."

Derek raises his eyebrows. "Really? That's what I'm doing."

"Oh?" He says, and takes a cautious step forward. Derek angles himself into a more open posture in order to allow him to see.

"I'm investigating." There's a curious glint to his eyes, mischievous, excited. Knowing. "I'm examining Spider-Man's web underneath the microscope.”


	5. Discussions

Stiles takes in the image; Derek, bent over the microscope, his web picked apart on the table.

"You're.." Stiles begins, blinking, stunned for a moment. "You are..."

"There was still some on my folder." Derek says. "And I wanted to take a look at it. It's quite unusual." 

"Right." Stiles replies, although for some reason his heart is pounding. "What did you find?"

"It's strange." Derek begins. "Because although it has the same qualities of a spider web, there seems to be some kind of epidermal layer, as if it's -- "

"Skin." Stiles finishes.

Derek studies him. "Exactly."

"Well." Stiles huffs. "You would still have to do more experiments to find out who actually is Spider-Man." He chuckles weakly.

"Oh, I don't care about that." Derek says. "I just want to understand why a web that comes from a spider, acts as though it comes from a human." 

Stiles can only stare. Derek watches him, intent.

"Why are you here, Stiles?" He asks. His voice is casual, but there's something in his face that betrays that.

Stiles opens his mouth. 

And all the lights come on, flickering one by one, illuminating the lab.

He turns back to Derek. "They're back from their lunch break. If they find us, we'll probably be in trouble."

Derek looks around. "Come on." He says, grasping Stiles' wrist and pulling him into an empty store room.

The room is practically a shelf, with no space to move. He and Derek and crushed to one another as they hear people come inside and begin to set up their experiments.

He opens his mouth.

"Sh." Derek states. He glances back to Stiles, and the rim of his glasses brush Stiles' cheek.

"Um." Stiles says, flushing, only for a hand to be clapped across his mouth. 

"I said. Shh." Derek mouths. 

Stiles nods. 

"Okay." He whispers, barely audible. "We'll have to wait until they leave."

Stiles blinks up at him.

"If that means, 'you must have something better than that', then I don't." Derek says, although he looks as if he's trying not to grin.

Stiles wordlessly shakes his head, flicks his eyes to the door and back again.

"I'm guessing that's, 'what if they come in here?'"

He nods.

"They never do." He replies.

And so they wait. It's excruciating torture. 

Every breath is against the skin of Derek's warm, rough palm. Every movement brings him closer to Derek, pressed to his shoulder. The arm by his side brushes Derek's waist, the thin cotton of his school shirt, and he feels the heat of Derek's body seep into him. The soft exhales of his nose blow against Stiles' ear. 

Derek must be able to feel the heat burning his cheeks, feel every time his hand spasms nervously. His backpack is digging awkwardly into his spine and his feet ache. He shifts periodically, restless.

Derek doesn't seem to notice, stood still and alert.

After what seems like years, they hear the sounds of people gathering their things and saying goodbye. 

Once everybody has left, Stiles and Derek remain standing, frozen.

Slowly, the hand on his mouth falls away.

He glances up to find Derek watching him. His eyes are bright, focused on him in the low-lighting. 

"We can go." Stiles murmurs.

"Yes." Derek says, still staring. 

He wets his lip, and Derek follows the action, glancing down and back up to hold his gaze. Stiles watches the way his throat works as he swallows, the long column of his neck undulating. 

"Mm." Derek coughs. "Okay." He opens the door, shaking his head.

Stiles is quick to get out, heading for the door and trying the handle.

"Wait - it's locked." He says, turning back.

"Stiles." Derek sighs, coming to his side and sliding the keycard down the slot. "How _stupid _do you think I am?"__

__*_ _

__His plan is working. It's actually working._ _

__Derek is slowly starting to acknowledge him, to see him not only as a part of the group, another face amongst the crowds, but as an acquaintance, a friend, somebody he talks to. Somebody he might even like._ _

__They're studying in the library, and mostly everyone is preoccupied with their homework or revision. Derek's sitting on one of the plush sofas, book in hand, and pointedly ignoring anyone and anything._ _

__Anyone who tried to engage Derek in conversation receives a quick nod. Stiles tries countless times on asking him what he's reading, his opinions, to no avail._ _

__"You're awfully grumpy today." He tells him._ _

__Derek doesn't reply._ _

__"More than usual."_ _

__"Mm." Derek tips his chin up, although his eyes don't move from his page._ _

__"Anything you want to share among friends?"_ _

__"No." He says._ _

__"Are we friends, Derek? I think we're friends."_ _

__"No." He repeats, leafing disinterestedly through his book._ _

__"I think we are."_ _

__"No."_ _

__"So there's nothing you like about me?"_ _

__"No."_ _

__"That implies that there is something you like about me."_ _

__"No."_ _

__"Is that the only word you can say?"_ _

__Derek opens his mouth unthinkingly, but stills. He looks up and raises a pointed eyebrow to Stiles, but doesn't reply._ _

__"Aw, c'mon! You're breaking my heart!" Stiles says, although he's grinning._ _

__"Mm." Derek states, as though he's hardly listening._ _

__"I'm not leaving until you admit to one thing you like about me."_ _

__Derek sighs and looks up, glancing around as though considering his options, before exhaling and turning to him with a flat expression._ _

"You do have a unique ..." Here he clearly searches, tilting his head, ", _laugh _."__

____Stiles blinks. "Okay, that's it."_ _ _ _

____Derek frowns._ _ _ _

____"I'm never laughing again. The days of laughter are gone. Never will you hear my laugh from here on out."_ _ _ _

____Derek rolls his eyes, although something in his expression twitches._ _ _ _

____It takes a second for him to realise that that was a smile._ _ _ _

____A sign of amusement, of fondness, a grin, smirk. An involuntary movement of inflicted humour. The side of his mouth clearly ticked in the upwards direction._ _ _ _

____"Oh my God." He says in realisation. "You think I'm funny."_ _ _ _

____Derek raises his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"_ _ _ _

____"You just smiled. You think I'm funny."_ _ _ _

____"Wait." Erica starts, turning to face them. "I was watching. You just smiled."_ _ _ _

____"No I didn't." He scowls, fingers twitching on his book. "What are you talking about?"_ _ _ _

____"I think I saw something too." Danny pitches in._ _ _ _

____"Did you hear - a snigger?" Isaac says gravely._ _ _ _

____"Okay, now you're making things up."_ _ _ _

____"So we weren't before?" Erica asks._ _ _ _

____"I - whatever." Derek says shortly, clenching his jaw. "I didn't."_ _ _ _

____"The lady doth protest!" Stiles cries gleefully. "You grinned."_ _ _ _

____"Do you mean gri-mace." Derek raises his eyebrows to him. "You really need to work on your pronunciation skills, Stiles."_ _ _ _

____"You aren't taking this away from me. You smiled. It was like sunshine."_ _ _ _

____Derek huffed, but his jaw was set, as though he was trying to contain the twist of his lips._ _ _ _

____*_ _ _ _

____"I'm home!" He shouts as soon as he comes in, shedding his jacket and backpack._ _ _ _

____"Good." His dad's head pops around the kitchen doorframe. "I made dinner."_ _ _ _

____Stiles makes a surprised face. "Really? What's the occasion?" He grins when a dish towel is thrown his way._ _ _ _

____They eat in companionable silence, making idle small talk of the day. He's almost finished when his dad swallows, and pauses as if hesitating._ _ _ _

____"So." He begins._ _ _ _

____"Ah, here it is." Stiles sets down his fork and steeples his fingers underneath his chin. "I knew there was something."_ _ _ _

____"I have a question." He replies seriously._ _ _ _

____Stiles stills, his grin slipping as he realises that his dad isn't joking. "Oh."_ _ _ _

____"I wanted to ask you." The sheriff begins._ _ _ _

____Stiles holds his breath._ _ _ _

____"Who are your new friends?"_ _ _ _

____He sighs in relief, the tension leaving his shoulders._ _ _ _

____"Okay, so get this - Scott really likes this girl Kira, but he thinks he doesn't stand a chance because she's so popular, then one day she asks him to come by at lunch, only he asks me to come with him..."_ _ _ _

____*  
_NEWS _____ _ _

_Everything in Moderation - Is it true that alcohol can lower chances of high blood pressure and heart disease? ___

_What The Bee Crisis Means For Us - For years it has been known that honeybees are the main pollinators of our world.. ___

_Food For Thought - As more and more people are resorting to food banks as a means to survive, we must ask ourselves the important question of why... ___

____________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Derek!" Stiles starts cheerfully when he spots him in his usual seat at lunch._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Hm." Derek grunts shortly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Happy to see me as ever."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"No."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"You make me feel so loved."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"I'm trying to do the opposite."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Stiles is about to retort when he sees a freshman staring at them, frowning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Oh don't worry." He tells the boy. "We are actually friends, it's just - Derek has apathy."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"It's a disease." Derek informs him seriously._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"And he - wait." Stiles stops. "Did you just say we're friends?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"What are you talking about?" He asks exasperatedly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"You just - I said we're friends and you didn't deny it, you like - side stepped the whole thing and - "_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Stiles."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"What?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Shut up."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Progress. Progress, my friend."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Scott grins. "Yeah?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________He squishes his cheeks together. "I'm telling you!" He pulls back, lowering his voice. "But what's happening with you and Kira?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Scott glances around before leaning closer. Stiles frowns, looking back, before turning to face him again._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"We're going steady."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Woohoo!" He cries, throwing hands in the air._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Stiles!" Scott hisses. "We're _secretly _going steady."__

______________"Woohoo." He whispers, ducking his head low and covering his mouth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Scott rolls his eyes._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Don't start that, I can tell you're happy. C'mon, give me a smile. Come on."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He pokes at his cheek until Scott eventually smacks his hand away, but he's grinning._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Whoops! 'Scuse me, pardon me! Mind the feet!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Spider-Man!" He hears a woman cry._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"It's him!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Stop! Can I get a photograph!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Spider-Man, would I be able to interview you!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Sign my shirt!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"My son is a massive fan, if I could get a photo for him - "_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?"__

________________"Saving you." Stiles grins._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"I'm perfectly capable of walking!" Derek wrestles against the arm around his waist._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Clearly not. You were about to cross a road."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"What does that have to do with my ability to walk?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"A main road."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"My feet work!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"With cars."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Would you put me down!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"You could have been hit."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"But I wasn't!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Could've happened."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"But it _didn't. _"__

__________________"It might've."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"St - " He starts, but cuts himself off with a frustrated noise. "Would you just quit it!"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Stiles sets him down safely, skidding to a halt on the sidewalk._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________"If you're going to keep saving me." Derek growls, eyes ablaze. "At least tell me who you are."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________________Stiles frowns behind his mask. "What makes you think you get special treatment?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	6. Changes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise an update by the end of the week, and I typically keep my promises. I hope you enjoy - and please for the love of god tell me what you think! Even if it's this sucks, seriously, I don't care

"Right, I have to go." Stiles says, pocketing his phone and scrambling to get his things.

"Again?" Erica moans. "Where?"

"Aw gee." Stiles fights a genuine smile. "It almost sounds as though you guys like me."

Danny throws a pillow at him. "Yeah, yeah, who are you leaving us for now?"

"I, uh." Stiles stutters. "I just have to go pick up something for my dad."

"Stiles." Erica says seriously. "Are you cheating on us?"

The group all laugh, and Stiles rolls his eyes longsufferingly.

"As if I could cheat on that face." He reaches over and pinches her cheek.

"Right, I'm off!" He waves, and everybody makes some form of acknowledgment apart from Derek, scrolling through his phone, ignoring him.

Stiles twists his mouth and nods. Okay. Alright then.

  
*

_Vigilante Spider-Man, whose codename is believed to be Peter Parker, seems to have swapped the life of heroism for a life of public transport._

_Or transport for one Derek Hale._

_Similar to last week, Spider-Man lifts Mr Hale in his arms and carries him a few blocks to his destination._

_From the photo above it appears there was some struggle, and that Derek may not have been as willing as Spider-Man's adoring fans._

_So what to make of this happenstance? Is it possible Spider-Man is harassing Mr Hale due to an unlikely teenage crush; the height of irony as the man himself is plastered across the walls of fifteen year old girls all over the globe?_

_Could Derek himself have an interest in our beloved Spider-Man, and is trying to conceal the fact with belligerence?_

_Or could it be that Spider-Man and Derek Hale know each other personally, outside of their public masks? Could we be closer to finding the real Spider-Man?_

  
*  
*

  
Stiles watches Derek from his usual distance, smiling as he rushes to the coffee shop with haste.

He blinks, then frowns.

Leans forward slightly, noticing something different.

Derek's hair isn't combed, tidy and neat. It looks wet, recently washed, curling, and that's odd because Stiles knows Derek usually takes his showers at night as there isn't any time in the morning. It looks styled, artfully gelled. His face is clean shaven, and his top button is undone.

Stiles leans closer, and sways as he almost loses his balance.

Derek is making a concentrated effort to look different today. It's making him feel odd. The usual sight of Derek, nose buried in a book, his hair greasy but uncaring, his face lined with a slight scruff and his tie set straight, makes Stiles feel better; the sight of him elicits fondness and longing and sadness and happiness in equal measure. Now, with Derek's hair fluffy and stylishly disarrayed, his cheeks smooth and flushed with the cold, is making him feel hot and stifled and embarrassed and odd.

He's trying to impress someone, his mind supplies. In the four years that Stiles has known of him, took an interest in him, he's never known Derek to change his routine from school to lacrosse practise to studying. And now he comes in today, with a totally new appearance.

______________Does he have a speech today in one of his classes, a meeting with one of his teachers? Is something going on after school today? Who has he just started talking to? Has someone new started working at the coffee shop?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

This can't be good.

Stiles starts silently freaking out on top of a fifteen storey building, but not for the usual reasons.

 

 _*  
_ Throughout the day Stiles goes to his classes, quietly turning over the issue, and when lunch rolls around, he automatically heads for the table, only to see everyone surrounding Derek, laughing and pulling at his clothes.

"What's going on?" He hovers, and hefts his bag higher on his shoulder.

"Derek's wearing cologne!"

"And hair gel!"

"And is doing something different - he's done something different to his face!"

They all yip like excited puppies and Derek shakes his head to Stiles, shoves them off and rolls his eyes. Stiles smiles with easy, casual camaraderie and flops down into the seat beside him.

This close, Stiles can feel his warmth where is shoulder is brushing his, his fresh scent with the waft of his shampoo.

"What do you think, Stiles?" Lydia asks him innocently.

"Uh, yeah, you look. Different." He stutters, trying not to give too much away.

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Thanks. I think."

"No, yeah man, it's good." He flounders, and wishes he could just evaporate.

Derek nods, purses his mouth. "Cool. Dude."

Stiles snorts. "You are never going to be able to pull that off." He says fondly.

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Should I be upset by that?"

Stiles puts a hand in his stomach. "Ouch." He curls in on himself dramatically, and Derek huffs again. Stiles continues sniggering, until he looks up and into seven staring faces.

"Uh." He says, looking around for some kind of explanation as to why they're all focused on him.

Derek picks up his book and begins reading.

  
*  
*

From Derek  
_Have you studied for chemistry?_

Stiles blinks down at his phone.

To Derek _ _  
_ Why would I be studying chemistry?_

From Derek  
_It's something called a test_  
_they're quite popular_  
_strange that you've never heard of them_

He grins.

To Derek  
_Okay smart ass_  
_when do we have it?_

From Derek  
_just so we're clear how much did you actually listen to in class?_  
_Monday_

To Derek  
_I listen plenty_  
_oh God what's it on?_

From Derek  
_I'm studying right now if you want to bring your stuff over?_

To Derek  
_are you serious?_  
_you're a lifesaver_

From Derek  
_Okay see you in about fifteen_

Stiles fist pumps the air.

 

 ________________________________*  
________________________________ "We're just going upstairs!" Derek calls, taking Stiles' wrist and all but sprinting up the staircase. Stiles laughs at his enthusiasm, even as he feels his pulse speed against Derek's warm grip. Oh God, web, behave, _behave_.

"Okay honey, just remember to keep the door open!"

Derek frowns, stalling. "What?" He calls.

"Not saying anything!" She waves her hands over her head.

Derek huffs, rolling his eyes and continuing up the stairs.

Stiles laughs. "What was that?" He throws a thumb backwards.

"Just ignore it. Seriously. She's overprotective."

"Ah." Stiles drops his head in understanding. "I get it. Right, back to work." He rubs his hands together, coming to sit beside Derek as he pulls the work out of his bag.

He flops down, sprawling out comfortably on Derek's bed. "What bit was it you wanted to study again?"

He looks up when he gets no reply to find Derek staring down at him intently, an odd look on his face. "Uh? Derek?"

Derek blinks, shakes his head. "Right."

  
*  
*

Stiles realised early on that if he's going to do this - this protecting innocent people and saving the world thing - that he's going to need some kind of alarm. He can't tell when someone is in need of saving telepathically.

And so he hooks his phone up to every news account on the Internet, subscribes and follows so he gets every update. He connects himself to the walkie talkies in the police station, one night when he sneaks into his dad's office after hours, and it's not the best plan, because he usually likes to arrive _before_ the police, but its all he can think of. It's all he can do for now.

He could probably come up with a better solution if he told his dad, because he’s the sheriff, but he isn't getting him involved in this. Bad enough Scott found out when he discovered his costume in his room, but his dad.

He won't get him involved in this.

*  
Stiles starts walking down the other street, thinking they're headed to the library, and he's cheerily on his merry way until he hears Erica's amused voice call out, "Bye then, Stiles!"

He flips around to find everyone watching him, waiting a little way away and biting their lips to keep from laughing.

"I thought we were -" he makes a move forward but hesitates, frowning, and spins around again in confusion. "Uh. Are we not going to the library?"

"We need to get something to eat first." Scott grins. "Coming?"

He falls back into step with them, embarrassed, and nobody makes any further comment, although Derek keeps shaking his head, mouth pursed tightly as though to keep from grinning.

"What is so funny?" Stiles asks him after a few minutes.

Derek looks at him, eyes sparkling, and then he stops and starts imitating Stiles; whipping his head around and flailing all his limbs out.

The group all laugh loudly, nodding in agreement, and Stiles feels himself flush from the tips of his toes to the tops of his ears.

"You looked like a deer." Derek tells him with playfully raised eyebrows, something one might say to their little brother.

Stiles grinds his teeth, flushing so hard he's sure he must be a tomato by now.

Way to look attractive in front of the person you're _trying_ to gain the affections of. He grumbles noncommittally.

  
*

After lunch they reach the library and couldn't have been there for longer than ten minutes when he feels the familiar vibration against his thigh.

"You know what." He says, standing. "I have to go."

"Seriously?" Danny starts. "What is it that you spend all your time doing?"

"I think he's leading a double life." Jackson says, smirking.

Wait." Erica mock-gasps. "Are you Spider-Man?"

Everyone laughs until Stiles stops, standing frozen, and doesn't move for a moment.

Danny turns to study him after a second. "You're. Not spiderman." He says, frowning. "Right?"

Stiles is unable to speak; his throat closes up, his mouth dries.

He's had to mask himself, to hide, to forge identities, to escape; but never to outright deny it. To lie to somebody.

Isaac leans forward. "Stiles." He asks, a furrow between his brows. "Are you?"

"Is this conversation actually happening?"

Everyone turns.

"Are we seriously discussing the prospect of Stiles being Spider-Man?" Derek asks bluntly.

"It's not a bad thing." Erica says. "He knows he can trust us." She turns warm, kind eyes to him.

"No, but you think Stiles." Derek begins, raising his eyebrows. "Skinny, defenceless Stiles, is _Spider-Man?"_

Isaac blinks. "Well, it seems likely." He waves a hand.

"As does the idea of me being Santa Claus." Derek retorts blandly.

"Alright, alright!" Erica laughs, and everyone relaxes. "Interrogation over! Go - do whatever it is you do, then."

He grins, nodding, but catches Derek's gaze.

It seems to hold him, the shrewd knowledge found there, the intent with which he watches him.

As if to say; _I'll keep your secret._


	7. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day everyone! You're all beautiful to me
> 
> I decided to post today this little fluffy, hand wrapped gift for you all because I know I haven't updated in forever but here it is! Hopefully I'll be more frequent 
> 
> I asked on my other fic Until Then for some beta readers of my book (still in progress) and I need as many opinions as I can get so anyone willing - email is in my profile x

He's being paranoid. He's imagining things.

Derek doesn't know. He _can't _know.__

There's no way - unless he worked everything out, somehow managed to piece together the fact that Stiles leaves periodically in time with every breaking news event, that clearly there are missing puzzle pieces in Stiles' stories, or maybe he even heard Stiles' voice and heard Spider-Man's and matched them -

Yeah. He's screwed.

He barely sleeps the whole night, tossing and turning with the worry that Derek will confront him, that he'll ask him flat-out and Stiles will be forced to say - _ _'no, I have no idea what you're talking about',__ to the one person he never wants to lie to, to the one person he wants to tell everything to, to learn everything about.

But when he walks into the library the next day, the group are their usual laughing, rowdy self, and Derek frowns when he catches Stiles staring.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Are _you_ okay?" Stiles asks, going to sit beside him. Derek rolls his eyes and refocuses on his book, so Stiles relaxes, puts his feet up and leans back.

 ____"____ Why are your feet so big?" Stiles hears and looks up to find Danny staring.

"Ahh, you know what they say." Erica says as she stares pointedly down at Stiles' outstretched foot, the whole group cackling.

"Okay, pipe - pipe _down_ you guys!" Stiles says, but it's all good-humoured annoyance. "And anyways, I'm pretty sure it's not your feet, is it not - the span of your hand or, the difference between your thumb and finger - "

Stiles, while talking, holds up his hands and spreads them open, the only thing is, they _flourish_ so obviously, his fingers uncurling, their length fully visible, and everyone at their table stops and stares.

Stiles frowns.

"Like, the width of." He pauses as he realises he has the sole attention of the whole group. "Okay I'm starting to feel really self-conscious." He says and balls his hands up again, holding them to his chest.

"Clearly you have no need." Danny says strongly.

"Can everyone please stop sexualising my hands and feet?"

"Exactly." Comes the huff, and the attention is diverted to Derek, scowling with an unamused expression.

"Okay, Der." Erica laughs, eyebrows raised.

"Derek's just defending me." He says, smiling, and slaps a hand across his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"I'm actually trying to read." Derek says, and looks down at the hand on his shoulder with one raised eyebrow and back up to his face.

"I'm taking my hand away." He says, slowly retracting. "That's a thing that's happening."

Derek huffs, but one side of his mouth is twitching.

*

They study practically everyday now.

Derek will either come to his and stay for a few hours, and they'll have takeaway pizza while his dad is on night shift, or Stiles will go to Derek's and they'll eat snacks in his room and be pranked by his little sister.

Derek growls in anger and slams the door shut the third time Cora knocks on his door to run away, but Stiles thinks it's adorable.

"She just wants to be included, I think." He laughs.

"Well she shouldn't! She has her own friends!" Derek fumes.

Stiles just chuckles.

"You think it's cute but you don't have to live with her." Derek says.

Stiles shakes his head grinning as Derek settles down to work, but then suddenly notices the time.

"Oh Jesus, it's nearly seven!" He scrambles up. "My dad'll be wondering what the hell I'm doing."

"Oh - oh right." Derek says. Is it Stiles' imagination that he sounds disappointed?

"I suppose I could stay for like a half hour." He says casually, relaxing back down again.

"Wh - I mean, you could stay over." Derek suggests.

Stiles blinks. "What?"

"I have some spare pyjamas." Derek says, shrugging. "And my mum just bought a new packet of toothbrushes. You could stay for the night - I mean, dinner's nearly ready. If you want?" Derek says flippantly, and scratches his ear.

What Stiles wants, more than anything, stronger than he's ever felt wanting in his whole life, is to reach out, just a little, and slide his fingers into the soft thatch of hair at the nape of Derek's neck, and to just leave them there, forever.

"Yeah, that would be great. I'll just call my dad." He grins, and forcibly stands and takes a step backwards, curling his fingers into his palms.

Derek smiles in return, and goes back to his laptop.

*

So things are going well. His plan is going smoothly. He thinks - yeah, it's going great. Derek sees him as a proper friend, maybe even his best friend.

He spends more time with him than the rest of the group, Derek seems to genuinely like him, despite trying not to show it.

So it's going good.

Which is of course when everything goes to hell.

They're sat at lunch, and Stiles is doing his usual talking-a-mile-a-minute and happily gesturing away, when Derek suddenly jumps out of his seat.

Stiles frowns, wondering what the hell he's doing, when he sees her.

She has long, thick black hair and dark skin, and she's crouched over scatted books as she picks them up.

Derek reaches down and hands her one, and she glances up, startled, and then smiles. Derek smiles back, his ears reddening, and Stiles feels his lungs collapse in his chest.

It's like watching a car crash, some kind of horrific accident. He wants to look away, to tear his eyes from the scene and pretend he doesn't know, that it's not happening. But he can't; his eyes are glued to them, as Derek starts up a conversation and she laughs, waving a book.

"Ahhhh, I get it." Danny murmurs.

Stiles blinks, and turns to him. "What?"

"Everything makes sense." He says. "Your tragic expression right now, Derek talking to Brayden."

"Wh - who? You know her?" Stiles jumps to.

"She's in a few of his classes, I think. They've been talking for a while."

"Right, just - if you'll excuse me." Stiles fumbles as he tries to get out his seat.

"Aww, Stiles." Erica says.

"I'm sure it's nothing!" Isaac pitches in.

Stiles stands in the bathroom stall and tries to gather his breathing, but it keeps going wonky and off every time the image of them reappears in his mind.

"C'mon, Stiles." He hisses, pressing fingers into his eyes. "C'mon c'mon c'mon." He wriggles his leg as he tries to stop himself from crying.

"This is pathetic." He croaks. "Jesus Christ."

He comes out and looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are bloodshot, his face red.

He sighs. Clearly he can't go back to the table. And they basically all know now, so that's just.

This day can't get any better.

He steps out of the bathroom, and then literally right into someone's chest.

The force of impact knocks him backwards, and he so stunned for a minute he only notices that he's banged into Matt Daehler after Matt roughly bends to gather his work.

"Oh, sorry." Stiles says, crouching as well to pick up the guys things.

"Yeah, _thanks _."__ Matt says, and rips the camera from Stiles' hand.

Stiles blinks, shocked, but then Matt barges past him to go into the bathrooms.

Stiles just stands there, stunned.

He looks across to the group and sees Brayden in his seat, being introduced to everyone.

Stiles turns on his heel and goes in the opposite direction.

_*_

He watches him as he makes his way home.

Derek goes to cross the street and his heart lodges in his throat, the memory of that truck just swerving past him still vivid and fresh.

Derek looks around, as if he's expecting something, and the frowns when it doesn't happen.

Stiles realises, abruptly, that Derek is looking for him.

This is usually when Spider-Man will swoop in with some excuse about his near-death, that a truck or a pigeon just missed him, and Derek is frowning, as if he wants Stiles to come sweeping down.

So he does.

"Whoops! Nearly missed that tree there."

"Wh - there was no tree!" Derek shouts, but he grips the arm around his waist, he doesn't thrash.

"Trees comes out at night, didn't you know?"

"It's not night!" Derek says, but he can't contain his grin, rolling his eyes.

Stiles misses him suddenly, so much that it hurts. He hasn't seen him in a few days, and any time he does, it's curt, blunt, Stiles not wanting to spend a lot of time around the group.

Brayden's settled in with Erica and the other girls, and now she hangs around with them, or more - hangs around with the others. Stiles could hardly call himself a part of that anymore.

"Dude!" Scott says while they're gaming. "Are you going to avoid everyone now? We all miss you!"

"Yeah, well." Stiles furiously moves his thumbs around the controller. "Try watching Kira get it on with Jackson or something."

"I did not need the mental image." Scott says.

"Well." Finally, Stiles manages to find Scott's avatar and shoots the living shit out of it. "Life isn't fair."

Now, holding Derek in his arms, being this close to him, he suddenly misses him. He realises how little he's seen Derek over the past week.

"C'mon." He says in his ear. "I want to show you something."

Stiles swings up to a tower building, gripping Derek tight.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" He says, looking out to the horizon, the lines of blue fading out into the sky, bleeding orange and red.

"Where have you been?" Derek asks.

Stiles looks at him sharply. There's something in Derek's voice - it's as if he isn't just asking Spider-Man. It's as if he's asking Stiles.

"Saving the world." He laughs. "But maybe it's time to come back down."

*

The next day, Stiles bumbles across to the lunch table, and everyone cheers when they see him.

"Did you finish the project then?" Isaac asks.

"Stiles! I thought you were studying?"

"Yay! Stiles is back!" Erica shouts, and then everyone is crowding round, shaking him and clapping him across the shoulders, and Stiles looks up and catches Derek's eyes, and they both grin.

Brayden is sitting beside Lydia, laughing and grinning, three seats away from Derek, and Derek's eyes are on him.

"Hey." Stiles says as he flops down beside Derek.

Derek nods to him, still grinning.

Erica has her camera out the whole lunch, taking pictures of everyone around them, eating and drinking.

"You really need to do that?" Jackson asks, wincing at the flashlight.

"It's for my photography class!" She shouts. "I need to take pictures of people in their authentic forms - "

"Yeah, we get it, to show how life really is, yada yada." Stiles says, waving a hand. People laugh, and he turns to Derek again, going back to whatever they were talking about.

Erica's still taking pictures of them, snapping literally as they speak, and so Stiles leans in close and presses his cheek to Derek's, beaming wide and sloppy.

Erica laughs, pointing the camera directly at them, so then Stiles takes Derek's face in both hands and presses a hard kiss to his head.

Derek shoves him off, grinning good-natured and rolling his eyes, and Stiles laughs, pulling away and ruffling his hair.

Erica finds him afterwards.

"Stiles, come see this."

Stiles frowns, leaning down to see her screen, and she tilts it towards him.

It's him and Derek.

Stiles has pressed their faces together, cheek smushed against his, and Derek - Derek's grinning wide, face flushed, his eyes warm as they slide sideways to him.

The next one, Stiles has grabbed his face and is kissing his head, and Derek's eyes have flickered shut, smile crooked and sincere.

"Is it that it's not there," Erica murmurs. "Or that you just can't see it."

*

It's just an ordinary, average night when it happens.

He's watching the streets, feet dangling over the edge of the building, when he spots Derek come out the music store, making his way home. It's raining, and he has his collar turned up, head bent low.

But it's dark, and he passes into an alleyway to try and get out of the rain. Stiles suddenly sees a dark figure behind him, walking close.

He leans forward, eyes intent, and then the figure reaches forward, takes Derek's bag and starts running.

"Hey!" He hears Derek shout, whipping his head up.

Stiles rushes across the top of the building and drop down on top of the man's shoulders.

The guy stumbles and falls, dropping the bag instantly. Derek sprints to pick it up, but then the man is running away, wriggling out of Stiles' hold and making a quick escape.

Stiles almost goes to run after him, but then Derek is staring at him, eyes wide, and there's this moment of silence before Stiles bolts.

He jumps around the corner, ignoring Derek's shouts. "Wait!"

Stiles sneaks around the back alley, blending into the darkness, but his heart clenched as he watches Derek search, his clothes soaked in the rain, glasses fogged. "Wait!"

Stiles crawls up the side of the wall slowly, careful and quiet, shoots a web to attach to the top of the building so he's able to hang from it, pressing the soles of his feet together on the rope to dangle upside down.

Derek shouldn't be able to recognise him like this.

"You have a knack for getting into trouble." He drawls.

Derek whips around, and sees him. He freezes up on the spot.

"And you have a knack for saving my life." He replies with raised eyebrows, crossing his arms. "I'm beginning to think I have a stalker."

Stiles feels his mouth pull into a wry grin. "I was in the neighbourhood." He responds flippantly.

Derek chuckles, coming to stand in front of him.

His glasses are still steamy and his cheeks are pink with the cold, clothes sodden and clinging to him.

He's never looked more beautiful.

Stiles is reaching up before he's even aware, one hand he carefully, tenderly, takes off his glasses, brushing fingers across his cheek for a moment before folding them up and placing them in his shirt pocket.

Derek looks at him. "You're remarkable." He says honestly.

Stiles feels the burn of his blush. "Most people don't think so." He chuckles. "It's nice to have a fan."

Derek smirks. "Well, can I at least thank you properly this time?"

He heart begins thudding in chest when he feels gentle fingertips at his jaw, curling around the edge of the mask.

He jerks back and feels Derek's fingers still, uncertain.

Stiles shakes his head, swinging forward eagerly, almost knocking their heads together.

Derek huffs a quiet laugh and then resumes in his exploratory touch.

Stiles feels himself go hot all over as Derek uncovers the material slowly, reverently, peeling away the edges from his chin, his mouth. The pads of his fingers are cold, sparking tingles up Stiles' spine.

He's about to unmask his nose before Stiles shakes his head, not ready. Derek stops, waits, then runs his hands up to curl around his jaw, the nape of his neck, and leans in.

Stiles isn't breathing when he presses his lips to him.

Nobody moves for a long second, just touching.

Derek tilts his head sideways, opens his mouth, and Stiles surges forward.

The angle should be impossible; it should make the kiss awkward, sloppy and uncomfortable, and both of them are soaked through, but the moment is perfection.

Derek's mouth is hot and soft - so soft, plush, and he tastes like rainwater, salty and fresh, and his hands are warm holding his head, it's everything he could have imagined but better because he's here.

He's only distantly aware of Derek's fingers pulling the mask higher until he feels cold droplets of rain against his cheek, and he pushes back and darts upwards, winding in his web so that it reels him up the wall.

Derek grunts in surprise and then laughs loudly, even as he stamps his foot in mock-annoyance, tipping his head upwards to him. "Hey!" He shouts.

The sound of his laughter fills the street, happy and breathless, and carries Stiles flying through the rest of the night.


	8. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, and better than ever!
> 
> In all seriousness, I apologise for the length of time it's taking to update each time. I'm not usually this slow, but I wrote a book! I whole goddamn book and okay, it's not been edited yet but I did it! Pretty proud, I'm sorry.
> 
> Anyways, it's been a while since I've been in the Sterek mindset so if this is off or the characters are drastically different or anything - let me know! I need criticism, I hate it and love it in one very loving unhealthy relationship

"Hey there, sexy." Spider-Man grins, poking his head upside-down into Derek's window.

"Stiles." Derek laughs, his grin wide, eyes warm. "You can drop the act. I know it's you."

Stiles freezes. "What?"

"I know, you don't have to worry anymore." He smiles softly. "Everyone knows." He murmurs. "It's you, we all know it's you."

Stiles startles awake, back lifting of the bed as he half-sits up. He blinks in the darkness, breathing hard, chest tight.

It takes a while for the feeling to fade.

*

"Whoa, Stiles, you look rough." Erica says when he sees them at break.

"Mm." He says. He hasn't been sleeping so well this past week.

It took him about three hours to realise the kiss actually meant nothing. That although it might've been everything for Stiles, to Derek, he was kissing Spider-Man. Not Stiles.

_Spider-Man._

He'd kissed the infamous Spider-Man, the symbol of a hero in the modern dday world. And who would turn down Spider-Man? Derek probably thought he had no choice, that he had to do it.

Stiles' stomach twists itself into knots at the thought. What if Derek hated it? What if he forced him into it?

Worse, what if he liked it? What if he liked the idea of Spider-Man, this wonderful, athletic superhero, brave and daring, and he'd be horrified to find out it was skinny, pale Stiles, the loser who sits at his table unwelcome, who tags along to every one of his friends outings.

Stiles digs himself deeper and deeper into self-loathing that by the end of the day he's inside this black hole, shuffling in and out of classrooms with his head low, posture bent.

"Are you alright?" Erica asks softly in the library.

Stiles nods. He sees Derek look up in concern a few times, but he ignores it. He doesn't think he can look at Derek, after everything.

He'll probably have to move country. He doesn't think he can ever look at Derek again.

He's been such an idiot. Such a fool. Who can woo somebody into liking you? It's either there or it's not, and he's been blind to that fact before now.

Jesus, he's smarter than this. Stiles watches Derek and Brayden together, and he sees the something in their encounters that's been missing from Derek and Stiles'.

Freedom.

It's comfortability, easiness. They laugh and chat, and Derek grins wider, answers more frequently.

Maybe Stiles has been deluding himself into thinking that Derek was a naturally blunt person. Clearly it just takes the right someone to open him up.

And clearly that person isn't Stiles.

Everyday, Stiles would come in and see Derek laughing, grinning, and he'd think, soon. Soon you'll be mine, soon I'll have you.

He's associated the sight of Derek with that thought. Looking at him now, it's like a bucket of ice water.

You would think the kiss had ignited his drive, his motivation, but instead it's just made him realise how impossible the prospect of them are.

Derek doesn't want him. He doesn't want Stiles. That's okay, it's alright. It's life. He just needs to accept that fact.

*

Stiles tip-toes inside softly, cursing as the floorboards creek, grimacing -

And then he sees the dark figure, cast in shadows and sitting on the couch.

Stiles clears his throat, straightens up, and walks toward the fridge.

"Where were you?" His dad asks flatly.

"Out." Stiles says, the fridge door covering his bruised face.

"Who with?"

"Just some friends."

"Stiles, it's nearly eleven o'clock at night. What - " John comes forward, and then stops. "What happened to you face?"

"Nothing." Stiles bends his head, trying to push past, but his dad stops him.

"Stiles." He growls, and takes Stiles' chin, tilting his head up toward the light.

John can't bite back the gasp that punches his chest when he sees Stiles, eye swollen, cheek purple and blue.

"Why are you doing this?" He whispers.

Stiles shoves him off. "I'm not doing anything, I just fell, you know how clumsy I am - "

"Stiles." His dad says. "Do you think I've been working in the force for over 15 years to not be able to tell the difference between clumsy and assault."

Stiles can't meet his eyes.

"Who's doing this to you?" He asks, voice pained.

Indignation sweeps over Stiles at that. He's not some low-life being bullied anymore.

"No one _did this _,__ dad." He hisses, and pushes past. "Ever think about how the other guy looks? Huh?" He spits.

John just stands, frozen, not recognising this wild-eyed, feral boy with blood on his teeth. "This isn't you, Stiles."

"Yeah, well maybe it is!" He doesn't mean to shout, but his voice echoes around the room. "Maybe this is my life now, dad, and there's nothing I can do about it!"

"Stiles." John steps forward. "You can always make a choice. That's what we do in life, we choose bad, or we choose good. With any kind of power there comes a responsibility, the responsibility to do what's _right _, whether that's having a badge, or a gun, or anything else."__

His eyes are hard, unflinching, and Stiles stares, shocked. _He doesn't know, he can't know._

"You know I'm here, Stiles." He murmurs. "I'm right here."

Stiles wants to suddenly blurt everything out, he just wants it out, he wants his dad's arms to come around him and for everything to be okay.

Stiles straightens up, tensing back his shoulders, and clears his throat. "I'm going to bed."

His dad nods, mouth a tight line.

Stiles closes the bathroom door and looks at his reflection in the mirror. Bloodied and bruised, he doesn't really recognise himself either.

*

Derek keeps glancing at him worriedly during class, but Stiles ignores him.

"And Derek." Their teacher calls, and Derek whips his head up.

"Excellent work. I thoroughly enjoyed reading." She sets his essay down on the table.

"Oh." He says, voice monotone. He takes his essay in numb hands, blinking down at it.

Stiles is packing up his things when Derek catches his arm. "Wait."

Stiles jerks away. "Derek - "

"No, Stiles, please." Derek asks desperately, and they both must hear it in his voice, because he straightens up, coughing.

"Look." He starts. "We're all just _worried_ about you - "

"Oh yeah?" Stiles scoffs. "They send you in as bait or something?"

"Stiles, stop it!" Derek thunders. "Cut it out! I'm worried."

Stiles swallows with difficulty, shrugging. "Well, if you can't take someone's nasty side, maybe you don't deserve their nice."

"What the - is this you quoting Marilyn Monroe at me or something?" Derek asks incredulously.

Stiles can't stop the huff of laughter that escapes him at that. "Only you would know that." He shakes his head fondly.

Derek is silent for a minute. "There he is." He murmurs.

Stiles blinks, looking behind him. "Who?"

"The real Stiles." Derek says softly. "My Stiles."

Stiles feels heat flood his face, and he looks down, scuffing his shoes to hide it.

"I think we need to talk." Derek says suddenly.

Stiles looks up. "What?"

"In private. I think it's about time." He says, crossing his arms.

Stiles' heart slams into his ribs. _Oh God he knows, he knows and he's going to blackmail me oh God -_

"Meet me in the library after school." Derek nods, and then he's off.

 

*

Stiles freaks out for the whole day. He can't even sit with them at lunch because he knows he'll just blurt it over and blow his own damn cover.

He hauls Scott away when he sees him in the corridor, making his way to class.

"Dude, Derek wants to meet me after school!" He hisses.

"Nice going." Scott grins.

"No Scott, not nice going, never nice going, no good can come of this -" he pauses when he sees Scott watching him oddly.

"What?" He asks.

Scott shakes his head, grinning. "Nothing. I just missed you man."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You'd think I had come back from war."

Scott claps him on the shoulder. "I know. But we all miss you." He shrugs. "Erica asks me everyday, but I don't have anything to tell her, because." He cuts off awkwardly.

Guilt hits Stiles like a sledgehammer, sudden and painful. He just ditched the best friends he's ever had. And Scott. He hasn't spoken to him in what, a week?

Stiles can't believe he just dropped him, after everything.

"Scott, I'm sorry." He starts quickly. "So much shit has been going on, what with." He waves a hand, and Scott nods. "I just lost track of time."

"It's cool." Scott nods. "I know you're busy. Just try to warn me, next time."

"There won't be a next time." Stiles states, voice hard. "I acted like a jackass, but it won't happen again. I just needed to figure some things out."

Scott grins. "This mean you'll be hanging out with us at lunch again?"

Stiles nods. "I'll be there."

*

He opens the library door carefully, peering inside. He can see Derek with a book on one of the sofa chairs, waiting for him.

Stiles walks in, and Derek stands.

"Stiles." He says, and puts his book down. He clears his throat. "Alright. I'll just get it over with."

Stiles feels his pulse racket up.

"It might not have escaped your attention that I've been acting - a little weird." He begins, and swallows. "Lately. Around you."

 _He knows he knows he knows he knows_ -

"Derek, you don't have to do this." Stiles starts wildly. "Alright, it's cool - "

"Stiles." Derek interrupts.

"And I know you must have your questions but honestly I just didn't want anyone to find out - "

"Stiles." Derek clenches his jaw.

"Because I know what you're thinking - "

"Stiles, I'm really - " Derek tries.

"It was - it happened so fast and I never chose - "

"Stiles, would you be quiet for one minute, I'm trying to tell you that I'm in love with you!" Derek shouts.

Stiles stops.

He's so preoccupied that the words don't register in his mind, it doesn't process as a thought for a moment.

Then he hears them, and his whole body seizes up.

He blinks. Doesn't move.

"You - did you just." He can't form words, can't compute. "Did you just say you love me?"

"Well it's not like I could help it." Derek says exasperatedly. "You're always just _around._ " He widens his eyes and gestures to prove the point.

Stiles stands motionless.

"So you actually." He stutters. "You _are_ actually saying you're in love with me."

Derek sighs a long, harsh sigh. " _Yes."_ He says, as though it's obvious, shaking his head back in incredulity.

"I can't believe." Stiles stares, wild-eyed, his whole body thrumming. "You really love me." He breathes.

Derek huffs, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently. "So." He states bluntly. "Are you going to do anything about it?"

Stiles strides across and takes Derek's face in his hands, mashing their mouths together.

It's awkward and slightly painful and not as spontaneously romantic as movies would have you believe.

Their teeth clack, their noses bump, and they both pull away quickly.

"That was awful." Derek says shortly once it's over.

Stiles steps back, distancing himself. "Right, yeah." He nods, scuffing his shoes again. "Totally."

"I can do a lot better." Is all he hears before Derek's mouth is on his again, softer, winding hands into Stiles' hair, taking his time.

Derek gently scratches the base of his skull, brushing thumbs over his cheekbones, and Stiles shivers with the tenderness of that act, the gentleness.

They part again, slowly; Derek lingeringly takes his mouth away, with soft, teasing brushes.

"That was - yeah, that works." Stiles breathes against him, eyes still shut.

"Best out of three?" Derek suggests casually, and Stiles nods deliriously, leaning up and pressing his mouth against him.

Derek tilts his head for a better angle, stooping low, and Stiles' hands land on his shoulders to steady himself.

Stiles sighs softly, bonelessly content to keep doing this for the rest of his life as he feels Derek's arms come around him, holding him secure, warm. Fingers trail up his spine slowly, as though memorising him, savouring.

When he pulls back this time, he sways so much he would almost lose balance if Derek's arms weren't wrapped around him.

"Uh." Stiles pants, eyelids fluttering as he tries to open them. "Getting there."

"I would say." Derek says, his voice rough.

"Practise makes perfect?" Stiles says hopefully, still out of breath.

Derek grins.

*

Stiles is floating. He's floating. This is what floating feels like.

He goes home and leans against his door, and then a giggle escapes him suddenly. He stifles it with a fist and feels as if his feet are levitating off the ground.

"You seem happy." His dad starts gruffly, cooking dinner in the kitchen.

Stiles comes up and wraps his arms around his dad's shoulders, squeezing.

John laughs. "What's this for?"

"I love you." He nuzzles into his dad's shoulder, hanging on tight.

"Alright, alright, get off before I ruin the spaghetti." His dad says, but he's grinning, eyes bright.

*

Stiles sits in his room and debates whether or not to text. Just once. Just one text won't do any harm.

To: Derek

_Hey_

The reply comes instantly.

From: Derek

_I was wondering when you were going to do that_

Stiles blushes

To: Derek

_Am I that predictable?_

From: Derek

_No, I had just convinced myself that if you didn't text I had made it all up_

Derek answers on the second ring.

"Hi." Stiles starts breathlessly.

"Hi." Derek says, sounding a little breathless too.

They're silent for a minute and then they burst into a fit of giggles like twelve year olds.

"So." Stiles starts, feeling as if his heart is about to split in two in his chest it's that full.

"So." Derek replies.

Stiles feels laughter well inside him again, and he shakes his head. "This could go on for a while."

Derek chuckles. "Good thinking."

"Um." Stiles can hardly speak over his grin. "Is this like, uh, dating? Then?"

"Yeah." Derek says. "That's the plan."

Stiles squishes the sides of his face with his fingers. "I thought." He starts, even though he's beaming. "I thought maybe you and Brayden?"

"What?" Derek asks, confused.

"Maybe you two had a thing... you know..." Stiles trails off.

"Stiles, why on earth would you think that? I spend all my time with you and about five minutes with Brayden." Derek states.

Stiles shrugs, even though Derek won't see. "You both seemed to get along."

"I told her how I felt about you." Derek says, and Stiles will never get over the jolt that Derek _feels_ something for him. "She really helped. It was her that suggested I tell you."

"Oh?" Stiles considers the fastest delivery of a fruit basket.

Derek laughs. "Changed your mind now." He says.

Stiles grins. "I just - I never even thought you liked guys."

"Me neither." Derek says. "I guess that can change."

Stiles blushes down to his toes.

"I want to take you on a date." Derek says firmly.

"What?" Stiles blinks.

"A date. We need a proper date." He says.

"Okay." Stiles grins. "If you want."

"Yes." Derek says, but Stiles can almost hear him smiling. "When?"

"Uh - I can do tomorrow?" _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _Is that eager? Does that sound eager?_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"What about tonight?"

Stiles laughs and opens his mouth to reply when -

"I can't." He says, remembering the look on his dad's face. "Tomorrow I can definitely do."

"Okay." Derek laughs. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." Stiles reiterates, and then Derek is gone.

"Who was that?" His dad asks casually.

Stiles grins. "I have a date."

His dad pauses in setting out the plates. "Well that's great, I suppose I can put the rest of this in the fridge - "

"Tomorrow." He says. "It's tomorrow." Stiles sits himself down and helps himself to a serving of spaghetti. "But right now I want to know what happened today at work."

John raises his eyebrows. "You want to know about what happened today?"

"Mm-hm." Stiles nods.

His dad shrugs. "Alright. Well, let me see..."

_*_

"I told you it would happen!" Scott jumps around for a minute, more excited than him.

Only Stiles is nervous. Really nervous. His feet are on the floor now and reality hits and -

"Scott, I've never been on a date." He groans. "I don't know how I'm supposed to act or what I'm supposed to wear or - "

Scott takes his shoulders. "Stiles. You've wanted this guy for six years - "

"Don't remind me!" Stiles yells. "What if he takes one look at me and realises - "

"This is Derek we're talking about." Scott starts. "I'm pretty sure he knows you; knows all your quirks and the way you ramble and everything. He wants _you _,__ Stiles."

Stiles takes a deep, calming breath. Then his eyes fly open. "What if something happens and I have to leave - "

"Then you have to leave." Scott shrugs. "He'll understand. Now." He starts, rummaging through Stiles' clothes. "We need to find something decent for you to wear."

__________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They meet outside the pizza place a few blocks away from Stiles' house.

And Derek is waiting, smart in a black shirt and jeans, hair washed and soft-looking, green eyes searching for _him _,__ that's Stiles' date, _ _Derek is his.__

Derek smiles as soon as he sees him. "Hey." He says, timid.

Stiles grins wide. "Hi to you too." He says, and leans up to press a kiss to Derek's smooth cheek.

Derek flushes and coughs, nodding. "Hi." He says again, stupidly, and then realises. His eyes squeeze shut. "I already said that."

Stiles grins. "You did. And you shaved, I can smell it."

Derek shrugs awkwardly. "Well."

"You're nervous."

Derek huffs. "A bit."

"Me too." Stiles says.

"You don't seem like it." Derek says, eyes accusatory.

"I was before I saw you." He smiles.

Derek rolls his eyes. "C'mon." He says, and pulls Stiles inside.

Dinner is great. Dinner is amazing and fantastic and just utterly the best night of his life. They share a pizza and Stiles gets tomato sauce all over his mouth, because he can't have nice things, and he pulls away and scrubs his face under the table, reappearing to find Derek grinning at him.

"When did you go from 'kind of cute' to 'gut wrenchingly irresistible'?" He asks.

Stiles feels himself smile lopsidedly, wiping a wrist over his mouth.

"Around the time somebody starting putting something in the water, probably." He laughs, shaking his head.

"I can't get over you." Derek breathes. "I can't get over wanting you."

Stiles makes a show of pinching his forearm and Derek gives him a soft, private smile, runs his index finger up to touch Stiles and rub his thumb across the place he hurt. Stiles turns into the contact, full out beaming, and they finish their pizza.

The grease smears over his hands and makes everything messy, but by the end they're both laughing, devouring their slices, and Stiles' stomach feels full to burst with elation as well as the food.

"Do you want a dessert?" Derek asks, scratching his ear.

"I just ate like - two and a half pounds of pizza." Stiles laughs.

"What, did you weigh it?" Derek frowns, looking underneath the plate.

"No, I - !" Stiles bursts out laughing at his utterly adorable confusion. "It was just a joke."

"I - Oh God." Derek says in realisation, and covers his face with his hands. "I swear I'm not usually like this."

Stiles feels as if his chest is about to explode. He takes Derek's wrists and pulls them away tenderly.

"I love it." He confesses, stroking up Derek's pulse points. Derek's shivers underneath his touch, smiling.

"God I want to kiss you so bad." He mutters, and Derek's expression slackens, his eyes heat.

He licks his lips, and Stiles feels his gaze drawn to them. Derek swallows, and Stiles abruptly realises they're in a restaurant, in public, and the things he wants to do aren't really appropriate at the moment.

"C'mon." He says, pulling Derek up. Derek blinks, and he does a quick little shimmy as he stands, shifting around the front of his pants before joining him.

Stiles feels heat flood his insides and he rushes up to the buffet stall before he gets caught popping a boner.

He picks up a bowl and gets some ice cream, scooping and sprinkling and pouring everything and anything he can think of to distract himself. He takes a spoon and immediately digs in, and makes a disgusted face. He finds Derek by the other side, and presses up against his back.

"Derek don't get the raspberry sauce it's not raspberry sauce, I repeat, it's not raspberry sauce - "

Derek starts laughing, quietly, and he feels the movement brush his chest, he leans in so his mouth is against Derek's jaw.

"Don't do it, save yourself - "

Derek's breath stutters when the tip of Stiles' nose catches against his ear, and Stiles suddenly realises how close they've gravitated, they're practically grinding against the buffet stand.

He pulls away quickly, and goes to sit down. Derek joins him shortly afterwards, sliding into their booth flushed and gorgeous.

"I just saw - " Derek begins, grinning.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, a familiar alert. Sure enough, he checks. The red light flashes.

Derek's expression draws tight and distant. "You have to go."

Stiles thunks his head against the table. "Why why why - "

"Don't go." He hears suddenly. He looks up.

"Just don't." Derek says. "If you really don't want to - "

"Derek." Stiles says. "It's not that I want to, _believe me _,__ you have no idea how long I've wanted this, you actually don't, I can't express how much I want this, but I'm literally bound to go - "

"Why?" Derek asks.

"I can't tell you." He rubs his forehead in complete frustration. "Derek." He starts seriously. "I will, so soon. But I can't now. I want to, and I want to stay here and finish our date like I've imagined a million times, I swear, one million, but I have to go. Can you - please, please, be patient."

Derek smiles a smile that doesn't do anything but stretch his mouth. "Yes. I'll wait."

He gets up quickly, slaps money down and kisses Derek firmly on the cheek. "Soon."

Derek huffs a slightly more genuine laugh, shaking his head. "Go, if it's so urgent."

He rushes out, but makes the mistake of turning back around for a split second.

And he sees the minute Derek slumps as though all his strings have been cut loose, the facade of nonchalance dropping.

He pushes his ice cream back with a little more force than necessary and sinks down on the seat, head low, jaw tense.

Stiles suddenly hates the state of the world; not because of the crime and immorality, the endless murders and the corrupt evil that erodes humanity, that pulls him away from a normal life, no, Stiles Stillinski hates the state of the world in that exact moment simply because of the expression on Derek Hale's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry there will be much explaining on derek's part! Also, what is up with pizza hut's rasperberry sauce? Maybe it was off day, or maybe it was because i mixed it with the chocolate sauce, coud have been either


	9. Obsessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did ya miss me?
> 
> In all honesty, so sorry for the delay in updating, I'll be more regular from now. As an apology, have this neat little, hand-wrapped gift of sexy times, complete with blowjobs and a bow.
> 
> Don't say I'm not good to you.

It's the first thing he sees on his phone when he wakes up in the morning.

From: Derek _ _  
_ Hi_

He grins, moving his thumbs over the screen.

There's a knock on his bedroom door. "Stiles? Are you up?"

Stiles glances down at himself, still in his suit. He passed out as soon as he came home, too exhausted to get changed.

He jerks his head up. "Just a minute!" He calls, desperately scrambling under the covers.

"C'mon, you need to get to school, and I need to clean your room." His dad says on the other end.

"Just - one." He pants, finally managing to rip it off and throw it under his bed just as his dad enters.

"Stiles." John starts, and stops, frowning. "Why are you so dirty?"

Stiles blinks, realising there's no explanation for the soot over his face and the dust in his hair. "I was just... Cleaning the chimney."

His dad looks even more bewildered. "We don't have a chimney."

Stiles gapes, his moth working around for a minute. "That's. Very surprising." He settles on.

John rolls his eyes. "Just get ready."

 

*

Stiles doesn't have to watch Derek anymore. The thought makes him giddy and slightly nauseous.

"Hi." He breathes when he catches Derek after class, in reply to his message.

Derek grins, and then it falters. "Where were you?"

Stiles leans closer. "I'll promise I'll tell you." He whispers, eyes flirting to the side. "Just trust me."

If he tells Derek and then everything comes crumbling down - he doesn't think he could live with it. With having Derek, only for him to be ripped away again.

Derek angry at him, hurt, betrayed. He needs time.

Derek breathes out. "I do. I just." He coughs, looking down, and Stiles notices his ears going red.

"What?" He asks.

Derek shrugs. "Just hope you don't have anyone else on the side."

Stiles snorts, and Derek blinks in shock, as if Stiles has just admitted it.

"Derek." Stiles grins, taking both his hands. "There's no one else. I don't think there _could_ be anyone else."

Derek nods curtly, clearing his throat, but his cheeks are stained. "Glad we cleared that up."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "You're adorable."

Derek cuffs him on the shoulder, pushing him back a bit, but he's grinning, a private, small smile.

They walk quietly, their hands brushing with every move, catching skin against one another, sweaty palms bumping, the smooth backs sliding together.

Stiles' heart is a jack-rabbit beat in his chest, wild and drumming.

"There you are!" Scott shouts when he catches sight of them, and then pauses.

Stiles glances to Derek; his face is flushed, ears red, expression blank and emotionless.

"Did you two?" He points. Erica snaps her head up from the table.

"Are you two?" Scott keeps saying these half-cut off sentences.

Stiles has no idea what he gives away in his eyes, but he clearly can't keep his emotions in check as well as Derek, because he feels a huge beam light up his face.

"Oh my god!" Erica stands up, and then everyone is looking over. "You finally got together!"

Stiles shoves his face into Derek's shoulder.

"Shout it louder, Erica, I'm not quite sure the whole school heard." Derek deadpans, but his voice is warm, and he leans into Stiles where they're touching.

"Fucking finally." Jackson says, and Lydia claps her hands. Isaac widens his eyes silently while everyone just about stares, dumbstruck.

"Oh my God." Stiles mumbles into Derek's jacket.

He feels an arm around his waist and then he's pulled into Derek's side, their warm bodies flush. He can feel the sweat under Derek's shirt, rubbing against him, and it makes his whole crotch tighten to the point of pain.

"This is too weird." Danny says. "I can't believe it actually happened. I thought it would be like sixty years and you'd still be cutting glances to one another in the retirement home."

He feels the way Derek laughs, a low vibration that travells all the way across to him, shaking him. Derek turns his face and presses a kiss into Stiles' hair, mouth brushing his ear slightly.

Great.

Now he's got a boner. He's got a boner in school, in public, in front of all his friends.

Stiles untangles himself quickly to sit down. Derek frowns, watching after him before following.

"Is that what you were telling him? When you left?" Erica enthuses. "Go you Derek." She fist-bumps him.

Derek chuckles, shrugging nonchalantly. Stiles feels a brush of foot up his ankle.

Stiles squeezes his legs together, but it doesn't help.

"Derek." He murmurs at his side, trying to be discreet.

"When Stiles was acting all dejected I thought we'd taken two steps backwards!" She keeps saying.

"Man, Stiles I'm so happy for you, you have no idea how long he's talked--" Scott cuts off at Stiles' acidic glare. "Uh."

"Derek has got to be worse." Isaac pipes up, giving him a sly glance. "'Why does Stiles not come out anymore?'" He imitates in a high voice. "'Do you think he's bored of us?'" He flaps his hands around. "'Why doesn't he like me!'"

"Ow!" Stiles hisses when he feels a sharp kick to his shin.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Derek says quickly. "Are you okay, I'm so sorry, fuck-- "

Stiles laughs. "I'm fine, I'm guessing that was for Isaac."

"Yes, it was." Derek levels him a truly sinister look.

"I was enjoying it." Stiles laughs, grinning coyly, and Derek turns to him. His eyes darken when he looks at Stiles, green slowly turning black, this heated expression settling over him.

Stiles' breath constricts. If they don't get out of here now, he's seriously gonna jizz his pants.

Stiles runs a hand along Derek's thigh, and Derek's breath quickens.

"We're never letting go of this--" Erica is saying.

"Uh." Derek begins. "I think me and Stiles are gonna leave early."

"What? It's lunch!" Danny cries.

"We just - I remembered we had something to do." Derek says, but his voice stutters as Stiles' hand slides higher.

"You can't just flunk classes for your sex life!" Erica shouts, but they're already off. "This isn't promoting heathy relationships!"

"Where do you want to go?" Derek gasps when they're outside.

"My dad won't be home right now." Stiles breathes quietly, daring to hope.

Derek turns to him, and grins.

*

They tumble into his house gracelessly, their legs kicking out and falling over one another.

"Oh God Oh Fuck." Stiles pants breathlessly against Derek, backing him up against the wall, his hands - finally able to put his hands on him, his chest, his back, to just _touch _him.__

"Jesus Stiles." Derek gasps, sounding as equally out of breath and as desperate and _how?_ "I jerk off at least once a day to the thought of your mouth."

Stiles pulls away, throwing his head back beaming. "Yes!" He cries in victory, "Yes, c'mon guys, we've done it, _we have done it _\--"__ he goes cross eyed and stupid as he tries to thank his lips and Derek bursts out laughing, his wet teeth pressing to Stiles' jaw and it's honestly the best experience he's had to date.

"You're crazy." He chuckles, long and low.

"Nobody's figured it out yet, shh." He starts mouthing his way down Derek's neck.

"Fuck." Derek's head thunks back against the wall. "Stiles. Your lips are so full they _bounce_ when you walk, you have no idea."

"I can't say I've noticed that." He giggles highly, nipping at the column of his throat.

"Trust me, I notice. Your hands, your feet. Even the way you smell, on your clothes." Derek is panting into his ear. "Most of the time I want to just collapse at your feet, press myself into your skin. I've never wanted anybody like this. It's never been like this before." Derek's voice shakes and he grips Stiles' sides tight.

Stiles shudders. "Me too, God, Derek, I've wanted you like this for years." He says in the heat of the moment, forgetting himself.

Derek pauses, pulls back to look at him. "What?"

Stiles catches up with himself, and stops. "I." He starts, and swallows. "Freshman year, when I saw you. I thought - God, Derek, I thought you were beautiful. I've wanted you ever since." He rushes.

Derek's blinks and then his mouth falls open in shock. "Freshman year?"

"I know, it's really lame." He chuckles self-deprecatingly.

"Stiles, you've wanted me for that long?"

Stiles nods, unsure in himself. He doesn't know if Derek will find that romantic or - let's face it, creepy.

"And you've never dated? All this time - you've always just wanted me?"

He nods again, unable to meet Derek's eyes.

"We're idiots." Derek says abruptly, and Stiles startles at the vehemence in his tone. "We are fucking idiots. You've liked me all this time - why didn't you say anything to me?"

Stiles pulls away, self-conscious. "We didn't talk."

"God Stiles, have you seen you? No, have you heard you? Have you actually _met _you?"__ He asks incredulously. "Such idiots. Jesus, Stiles, I've been thinking about you ever since you made me spit out my burger at the diner. I've been thinking about you ever since you came up to our table. If I had any idea, Stiles, the amount of times I've imagined this, never even thinking you could feel the same."

 ________________"________________ Derek, that's has been my life for the last four years." Stiles breathes, his heart lodged in his throat. "I saw you around everywhere, but I could never say anything, I couldn't even smile. It was torture, I saw you laughing with other people, I could see you dating girls - it killed me."

Derek smooths consoling hands up his sides. "You should have said."

Stiles snorts. "One day just walked up, 'hey Derek I'm obsessed with you, have been for my whole high school career, wanna hang?'

"I'd say let's get out of here." Derek says, eyes serious.

Stiles grins wide. "Oh yeah? Have I missed my chance?"

"No way on earth." Derek says strongly, so uber-serious and blunt, that Stiles is hit with such a rush of fondness, of longing and want, he's dizzy with it.

He kisses Derek then, sloppy and hard, brings hands up to grip at his soft, thick hair, run nails down the back of his head, his scalp.

Derek makes a small noise, a tiny involuntary moan, and Stiles presses harder, pulls at the ends of his hair and tips his head further backwards.

Derek groans loud, and Stiles smiles against his mouth.

"What do you want?" He asks.

"Everything. All of it. Hands. I want all-- Stiles." He cuts off helplessly, bucking his hips as Stiles nips at his jaw. "I'm not going to last."

"I want you - I want you so bad anyway, I won't either." Stiles gasps.

"God." Derek says, shuddering apart.

Stiles grins, wicked, licks his palm and runs it down Derek's strong stomach before reaching into his pants. He feels the length of him, hot and solid, fondles him as he wraps fingers underneath his base, swipes a thumb over his head.

"Jeh - _fuck _,__ your hands, I can't." Derek gasps.

 __________________"__________________ Yeah, yeah, keep it, do it - " Stiles murmurs nonsensically as he strokes him, readjusts his grip and grasps him firm. He works Derek slow, savouring the feeling of him, the soft, gasping, almost hurt noises he makes, the way he feels against Stiles, writhing and spasming.

Before long Derek's mouth is falling open, eyes wide in shock as he comes. Stiles eases him through it, gathers the wetness of him and licking his fingers into his mouth to taste afterwards.

Derek is staring with a glazed, awed expression, before he's suddenly moving, kneeling down and shucking up Stiles' shirt.

Stiles gasps when he feels Derek begin to press kisses all over his abdomen, quick, adoring kisses. He unzips Stiles and just presses his face into his briefs, inhaling.

"This is better than I could've imagined." He murmurs, and Stiles laughs breathlessly, strokes a hand along Derek's shoulder.

"Derek, don't feel as though you have to --"

"Believe me, Stiles, I'm doing this because it takes all my willpower everyday _not_ to fall down and beg you to fuck my face --"

"Jesus." Stiles whispers viciously.

 _"_ I want you so bad, I ache - I physically ache." Derek confesses, then pulls down the hem of Stiles' underwear over his leaking cock.

Derek kisses his hipbone, the sharp jut, buries his nose into his pubic hair, licks up the length of his shaft. Stiles spasms violently, hand coming into Derek's hair. Derek nods enthusiastically, pushes his head further into Stiles' hand.

He takes the tip into his mouth, swirls his tongue around. Stiles wheezes, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, and his fingers spasm on Derek's head.

Derek takes the hand in his hair and squeezes, forcing Stiles to pull. Derek rumbles, rocking into Stiles, and that's it; Stiles manages to pull Derek back enough to give him a warning but then he's flooding down his throat, gasping, knees buckling.

Derek swallows some before he pulls his mouth away and replaces his hand, milking him for all he's worth, and Stiles slides to the floor in a gangly heap of limbs.

"Holy shit." Stiles says, and kisses him, tasting the saltiness, and Derek kisses back breathless until they're both panting.

"That was --"

"Yeah." Derek says, gasping.

 

*

After that, well.

It's as if a dam has burst.

Suddenly seeing him pass in the hallways is enough for Stiles to be floored by the sense-memory of Derek's mouth on his ears, and then he's hard all day.

Derek's hand brushing his thigh makes tingles race down his spine. His slow, predatory grin has Stiles' lungs constricting in anticipation.

There's no way to explain sexual chemistry - explosive, obsessive, addictive.

He wants Derek all the time. Stiles thinks that Derek is the only thing he'll ever want for the rest of his life. The only thing he could want.

He can't think straight, can't function. He's tormented with it.

But Stiles isn't the only one.

"Oh no." Derek says as soon as he sees him. "You can't wear that."

Stiles slows in walking, stops, frowns, and looks down at himself.

He's wearing comfortable jeans and a plain cotton t-shirt, worn and threadbare, that hugs him in all the right places, underneath his purple zip-up hoodie, opened at the front. He blinks at Derek.

"You can't possibly expect me to walk around and not want to touch you every second of every minute."

He flushes up to the roots of his hair, suddenly understanding Derek's teasing, and rolls his eyes.

Ever since their first time, they've been more active in the bedroom, so to speak. Stiles can't say he's ever been this active in all his _life._

Derek steps forward and lays hands on both his sides. "I'm being serious Stiles." His voice is deadly calm. "I don't even want to get off, I just want to bite your shoulders." He takes said shoulders and Stiles shudders wantonly as he caresses them.

"Do you want to go back to my place?" Derek asks, eyes large and tantalisingly green.

"Yes." Stiles breathes.

 

______________________*______________________

"Oh - Oh God, Oh --" Stiles' voice is becoming progressively louder the more Derek continues to touch him, so much so that he's starting to shout. "Oh, Oh, OH --"

"Stiles, not so loud." He chuckles into the side of his neck, where he can feel the reverberations of his throat. "You'll frighten the neighbours."

"Ca - can't help it --" He gasps, shuddering and shaking apart underneath his hands. "You - _oh_ \--" his voice drops as Derek strokes slowly up his length. "Ah - ah, Derek!"

"Shhhh." He laughs against Stiles' mouth. "I'll stop if you're not quiet."

"No - please, no --"

"I said I _will."_ He says wickedly, and grips him harder, quickening.

"Oh, Guh - Derek!" He can't help but shout, so loudly the sound echoes around the room.

Derek stops.

"No, I'll be quiet, I can be good, please don't --" He begins fervently.

"Shh, shh." Derek whispers, mouth pressing over him, running his hands up Stiles' quaking sides, his overwrought body. "I'm here, shh."

He can feel Derek throbbing against him, probably painfully close. They shudder, take a minute to stop and breathe.

"Okay, I'm going to try something." Derek says, and loosens his trousers quickly, leaves them partway open at the front, and does the same to Stiles.

His head is flushed red, coming out of his underwear, and Stiles feels himself shake again, feels his muscles tense.

Derek kisses his jaw, mouthing along the curve. "Shh, I've got you, I'm here."

He spits into his palm, presses himself to Stiles and grasps them both in a large hand.

"Oh God." Stiles gasps, toes curling so hard he almost bursts a blood vessel.

"You're going to have to be quiet." Derek rumbles softly, breath on his ear. "Can you do that for me?"

Stiles nods wordlessly, not daring to speak. He moves his hips upwards, timidly, bites down so hard into his bottom lip he tastes coppery blood.

"So beautiful like this, just for me, so wish I could hear you--" Derek murmurs.

Stiles makes an inarticulate wailing noise in the back of his throat, his nostrils puffing to keep from screaming. Derek bucks his pelvis up groaning, stuffing a fist into his mouth.

Stiles' whole body is on fire with the urge to move.

He begins with slow, even rolls of his hips against Derek, until he feels his resolve weakening, dissolving. Moves faster, beginning to rut and grind down.

His mouth opens and Derek manages to slap a palm over him as he gasps and pants, unable to stop the noises coming out of him.

Stiles' hands comes up and find themselves buried into Derek's thick hair, he pulls his head back and Derek muffles a short gasp.

They're moving viciously now, animalistic, with Stiles' forehead pressed to Derek, gripping into the stands of his hair, nails scratching down his scalp as their hips snap forward, again and again.

The sensation is indescribable - like static electricity showering down upon every nerve ending, making them convulse and spasm as though they're in agony.

They both heave dry, gasping sobs as they come, tears leaking from the corners of Stiles' eyes, teeth sunk firmly into Derek's fist. The orgasm sweeps throughout his body, knocking him breathless, the strongest thing he's ever experienced.

They move weakly for a moment, pushing against one another with the after shocks before coming down.

Stiles' hand falls from Derek's head to cup his cheek and Derek pants, hair in a disarray, mouth red and swollen, cheeks flushed.

"Is this what it's supposed to be like?" Derek murmurs after they've caught their breath.

Stiles nods wordlessly, awed.

"I get it now." He says, and Stiles laughs breathlessly, still nodding. Derek falls and leans his weight against him.

Stiles catches him, pulls him up, and they look down at the sticky mess across their abdomens.

Stiles smears fingers across his own stomach and Derek moans, dropping his head.

"Stop it. I'm worn out." He groans.

"Stop what?" Stiles mumbles into Derek's cheek.

"Stop being hot. I need a minute."

He laughs again, shakes his head, and kisses him, kisses his mouth, sloppy and uncoordinated, but so, so perfect. They kiss for a while, and before long both hands are again in Derek hair, Derek running gentle fingers up and down his spine.

"Has it always been like that for you?" Derek murmurs.

"No. Never." Stiles says fiercely. "What about you and - Kate?" He asks uncertainly, focusing on his fingers playing with the hair at the nape of Derek's neck.

"No." Derek brings Stiles' gaze to his with a tender finger on his chin. "I've never felt this; I've never felt the way I do with you."

Stiles breathes through the swelling in his chest. "But did you - do things?"

Derek grimaces. "We tried to, I mean a couple of times. There was a lot of fumbling. We never managed to."

Stiles raises eyebrows. "Really?"

Derek grins. "Really. Hey, I'm as surprised as you. I thought maybe I just wasn't interested in that. Came as quite a _shock_ to me too, that I only had to glance your way." He chuckles.

Stiles shivers against the rush of arousal. "I want you all the time." He confesses.

Derek's eyes grow dark and unfocused; heated. "Yeah." He murmurs. "Now I understand what everyone's been talking about. In movies, in books."

"Me too." He strokes Derek's shoulders, his chest, anywhere he can reach. They stay that way for a while, just touching, stroking.


	10. Responsibilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I can only apologise for my long absence, and reassure with the fact that this fic is actually finished, and I'm hoping to officially finish it this week. I'm going to put the next chapter together and maybe post in a few days, a few hours, who knows, but it's going to happen.
> 
> Peace out.

It's hard, sometimes.

Sometimes Stiles wants a normal life.

Just a normal, average life, where he spends time with his friends, goes to parties and skips school the next day. Where he kisses his boyfriend, and doesn't have to press harder into it because he's worried it’ll be the last time.

Stiles goes back to the lab. He doesn't really know why anymore. To remind himself, to try to understand; why him, why this, why now, _why_?

Does there have to be a reason? Can't he just be confused and scared with no one to talk to and nowhere else to go?

He barely remembers the way, but he manages to find it again somehow.

Stiles doesn't expect to find anybody inside. Of everyone in the whole world, the last person he expects to see is Matt Daehler.

Matt startles when Stiles walks inside, as if this comes as a surprise. "Wh - Stiles?" He rears back, camera falling away from the spiders. He's standing in front of the glass cages, taking pictures. He’s _taking pictures._

Stiles is equally as confused. "What are you doing in here?"

"What am I doing in here?" Matt repeats. "What the hell are you?"

Stiles frowns harder, thrown. "Sorry?"

"How do you even know about this place?" Matt presses, frowning. “It’s not open to the public. I’m taking pictures for the school magazine.”

Stiles heart is hammering. He huffs a humourless laugh. "Alright, I'm done with the inquisition." He holds his hands up, turning around.

He’s almost there, he’s almost escaped.

"I mean, it's quite funny, the whole Spider-Man thing, don't you think?" Matty calls out suddenly, just as Stiles is at the door.

Stiles freezes, his whole back tensing.

"Kinda weird how he does it. Flies through the sky. Scales entire buildings. I mean, he really _is_ a spider."

Stiles turns around wordlessly, his movements slow.

"I think I know." Matt states. "I have this theory. I think he was infected by one. But not just any spider. A spider that's been genetically modified. Enhanced."

Stiles' breath feels caught in his chest, but he clears his throat. "That's nice." He says, blunt. "Why, again, are you telling me this?"

"Wouldn't you like that kind of fame? That power? He's adored by thousands and he doesn't even deserve it." Matt spits. "Anyone could play around in a lab and create some kind of superhuman."

"I don't think he was created." Stiles starts, pulse fast. "I think it was probably just an accident."

"How would you know?" Matt's eyes are sharp.

"How would you?" Stiles fires back.

Matt smiles, accepting, a bare hint of a smirk. He shrugs.

"Well if that's all, dude.” Stiles says, making a move to leave, one foot behind him.

"Stiles, how did you know about this place?" Matt asks again.

Stiles' eyes are impenetrable. "How did you?" He says, and leaves.

 

*

He's out with Derek one night, and the alarm goes off. His phone blares, buzzing with the news update, the red flashing alert.

Stiles sighs, his body heavy, a leaden weight.

He feels a touch to his wrist. Stiles looks up and finds Derek's eyes, his clear, hazel gaze.

"Ignore it." Derek says. "Whatever it is. Don't go. Please."

Stiles looks down at his phone, and then turns it off.

He's never seen Derek's eyes light up the way they do then.

 

*

When he gets home, three police cars surround his house.

Stiles freezes.

He gets out slowly, as if to delay the inevitable.

"Stiles, where the hell have you been?" Jordan Parrish barges up to the jeep, frenzied. "I've been calling you for the last hour."

Stiles is numb, everything moving in slow motion, in sluggish movement. He looks from the house, to Parrish, then back to the house. "I was … out.” His mouth isn’t working properly, it feels as if it takes an age to get out a sentence. Stiles blinks, before he manages to ask, “wh ... what's happening?"

Jordan just looks at him. "You need to come to the hospital."

 

*

Stiles can't react. He can't move.

He's staring at his dad in a hospital bed. Beeping machines and plastic wires surround him, but he’s motionless.

"He was shot." Jordan is saying, but Stiles isn't really hearing him. He's not, not really. "Some idiot tried to rob a woman, John was there. Guy pulled a gun, nobody could've known." Parrish lays a hand on his shoulder. "Look Stiles, they had to put him in a coma. They think he'll be fine, but they can't say how long he’ll need."

Stiles stares ahead, unblinking.

"Okay? I know you'll want some time alone. I'll just be outside." He slips out unnoticed. Stiles barely registers anything.

He sits down on the hard chair beside the bed, but doesn't reach for his dad's hand. He can't.

His dad's chest rises and falls, and Stiles stares, until his eyes blurring, and he sucks in a sharp, uneven breath.

He lets it out in a sob, and then he's crying. These great, gasping weeps, broken and jagged in his chest.

 

*

A social worker comes to the house.

It’s been three days since his dad was put in a coma, and Stiles has slept in the hospital for three days. The first time he goes home to get some stuff, there’s a social worker waiting.

"Stiles? Stiles Stillinski?”

Stiles ignores her, getting out his jeep to walk to the front door.

“I’m not here to do anything, I just want to talk –” the lady puts her hands up.

“I don’t want to talk.” Stiles states.

“Legally you’re a minor Stiles, my job is just to make sure you’re okay –”

“If I’m okay?” Stiles barks. “I don’t – I’m not alone, he’s not – he’s not _dead!”_ He shouts. _“My dad isn’t dead!”_ Stiles feels tears burn his eyes, despite the fact they’ve been red and swollen for the past three days.

He’s been in such a constant state of crying that he hasn’t returned any messages, any calls. He knows everyone is worried, but he can’t. Not right now.

Stiles sucks in a breath and then covers his mouth with a hand, barging past the woman as she tries to reach for him, tries to comfort, to reassure.

Stiles slams the door closed and falls against it, gripping two hands into his hair and pulling, teeth aching and jaw on fire with the need to scream, to just explode, to cry his lungs out.

“URGH!” He cries, kicking the back of the door.

He packs his things roughly, hands blurring in front of his face as they gather his clothes, his toothbrush, shoving it into a backpack.

Stiles has to stop when he realises he’s forgotten to breathe, and then he does, a sharp inhale and just as sharply let out, until it feels as if he’s gasping like he’s run a mile when all he’s done is put a few things in a rucksack.

He pulls his phone out clumsily, fingers not working properly as he finds the contact and presses call.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice floods his senses, loud and frantic and angry and anxious all at once. “Fuck, where the hell have you _been_? I’ve called a million times, I came by your house, I’ve asked everyone –”

Stiles feels himself gasp, and then he’s babbling, “Derek I don’t know what to do, I’m so scared –”

“Stiles, shh, shh.” Derek murmurs, instantly calming. “Tell me where you are, I’ll find you.”

“I’m – I’m at home, but there’s a woman and she wants to take me away Derek and I can’t – not again, I can’t talk to them again –”

Stiles is seven again and his dad is drinking so much even though he couldn't be thirsty and there are strangers in his house but his dad won't look him in the eye as they bend to talk to him, to ask him how he feels about going someplace nice, a park, the cinema, but Stiles just wants his _dad_ \--

“I’m coming, just wait, I’ll be there, I'm coming.” The line snicks dead.

Stiles is bereft, isolated, alone. He feels so lost, and he's just so alone, there's nobody here, and he doesn’t know how long he stands there, on this spot, not moving.

Suddenly the window is opening, and Stiles jerks. 

Derek falls inside, panting, clearly having run here, but Stiles doesn’t care about any of that, he doesn’t care about anything, he just collides into Derek and feels arms wrap around him, holding him together as he falls apart.


	11. Differences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing this fic by the end of the week is a little ambitious, but I'll do my best!
> 
> angst: you've been warned.

Stiles almost told Derek, once.

He’s been close before, he’s been close to telling someone every day, his dad, his friends, but Stiles really almost told Derek. The words formed in his mouth, they really were on the tip of his tongue.

"You know you can tell me anything." Derek murmured quietly, brushing the pad of his index finger down the back of Stiles’ hand, stroking up and down.

"Of course." Stiles replied, glancing to him and turning his palm up to meet the touch.

"Just wanted to let you know." Derek was still using his fingertip to rub little circles in, soothing Stiles with his touch. "I've told you more than I've ever told anyone. Because I feel like I can. I want you to feel like that too."

This uncomfortably hot, tight sensation twisted his gut. "Derek." Stiles began.

He felt the way Derek shifted, subtly leaning to him. "Yes?"

"I." Then the words wouldn’t come. They felt choked in his throat. And he so badly wanted to say. Stiles, in that moment, so badly wanted to tell Derek.

He felt warm fingers wrap around his wrist, tighter this time.

"I love you, Stiles." Derek says quietly, his gaze intense. "No matter what."

Stiles swallowed loudly, eyes wide and staring at Derek.

"Come on!" Erica burst through. "What are you two doing? We're leaving in five minutes."

Derek stood. "Right!" He called, going as if to leave and ignoring Stiles, still sitting.

Stiles was frozen, confused, until he felt a soft touch trail along his shoulder, and then Derek went out.

*

Stiles practically moves into the hospital.

Unpacks his things into the cupboards, sets his laptop on the table, spends his time doing homework and watching movies, eyes flicking to his dad’s motionless figure every few minutes. He never leaves.

They’re not going to wake him up. Turns out a bullet to the lung causes all kinds of promblems, and blood loss, and that amount of loss can cause brain damage -–

Stiles asked the doctor to stop talking then. He doesn’t need the gory details. That guy does his job, Stiles does his own, they don’t need to overlap.

He doesn’t answer his phone. Everyone still comes to visit though, Scott, Erica, even Lydia. Derek. They always fall silent as the enter, always on seeing his dad.

It’s his birthday.

Stiles forgets. He’s dozing on the chair, cramp beginning in his leg, when he’s gentled awake.

Stiles blinks up at the green-hazel, soft eyes of one Derek Hale.

“Hey.” He whispers. “Happy birthday.”

Stiles frowns, still groggy, and looks behind him to the hopeful, cautious expressions of his friends.

Erica Reyes has her hands clasped, smile reassuring. Vernon Boyd is behind her, face blank all for his kind eyes.

Jackson Whittemore has his arms crossed, Lydia Martin is chewing on her lip. Malia Tate is trying to smile comfortingly, but it come across as more of a grimace. Danny Māhealani is the one smiling genuinely, sympathy written all over his face.

Isaac Lahey looks like a scared puppy, while Allison Argent gazes at him in solidarity.

Best friend in the world Scott McCall is beaming wide, holding a box with both arms, and Kira Yukimura is holding a balloon with 18 in bold, black letters.

Derek Hale has a hand on his arm, face close and eyes flitting over him.

“We thought we would bring it to you.” He murmurs.

Stiles frowns. “Bring what?”

“Your birthday!” Scott says. “You’re 18! We’ve been waiting for this day since like – ever!”

The morning of his birthday, every year, his dad would make him pancakes and let him put all the unholy goodness that Stiles wanted to on top. He’d ruffle his hair and say, _‘another year, kiddo.’_

Stiles finds himself tearing up, mortifyingly, in front of everyone, but Derek steps in fluidly.

“Hey, you haven’t seen the cake yet.” He starts, and Scott passes him the box.

Derek opens the lid, and Stiles peeks inside. He freezes.

It’s an icing cake, with the letter S on top. Only the S is in a triangular badge, red against the yellow backdrop, and the rest of the cake is blue. Superman. It’s the Superman logo.

“S for Stiles.” Derek grins, a soft private one. _You’re Superman._

Stiles takes the cake and sets it down on the bed, very gently. Then he envelops Derek in a hug.

*

The longer his dad stays where he is, the more anger starts to burn in Stiles’ gut, searing through him like fire.

Stiles doesn’t know why, but he thought that they would have found the guy by now. He was just so sure, with so many eye witnesses, CTV footage, with the fact his dad was a fucking Sheriff and actually _meant_ something to Beacon Hills Police Department –

The longer Stiles watches his dad, hooked up to wires with a breathing apparatus shoved down his throat, the feeling rises like flames, lit by petrol, sudden and blinding, consuming him whole.

Once everyone leaves that night, Stiles stares down at the cake, untouched, the logo standing bold and bright.

He closes it over, settling it inside the cupboard and shutting the door softly. Then he reaches inside his backpack, finding his suit easily.

*  
*

From: Derek

_Hey where are u??_

_you’ve not been at the hospital_

_Stiles just a little worried here_

_I know u don’t have to answer just give me a sign_

_I just want to know you’re okay_

_Please_

Missed call: 12:05 PM

Missed call: 1:17 AM

Missed call: 3:22 AM

_I’ll stop calling sorry_

_Hey_

_Did u go to the hospital? I went and didn’t see u_

_U avoiding me?_

_R u getting these?_

_U at home?_

_Meet me at the diner, I’ll be there after school._

*

"Hey." Stiles says breathlessly, collapsing into the booth. He's gasping and sweating, having just ripped off the suit in about three seconds flat.

Derek stares hard, almost disbelieving. "Where were you?"

"Huh?" He says, pulling an orange juice from his bag and gulping in great, swallows. He wipes his mouth, panting. "Just - out."

"Stiles." Derek starts. "I'm asking where you’ve been."

"Do you want some orange juice?" Stiles asks, tilting the bottle towards him. "It's nice."

"I want to know what you've been doing all week."

"Are you sure, because it's really good orange juice - "

"Stiles!" Derek suddenly slams his hands on the table, then looks around quickly. "You know what?" He hisses. "If you're trying to blow me off, I'd rather you just fucking told me."

Stiles' mouth falls open in shock, and he stares dumbly. "Wh - I -"

“I thought you’d be at hospital, with your dad. I went. Every. _Day_.” Derek grits his teeth. “So, do enlighten me: just where the fuck have you been?”

Stiles just blinks.

"Stiles, I'm trying." Derek starts, desperate. "I'm trying to be there. Am I am. I'm _right here_. But you're not. And I can't keep doing this if I'm the only one in it."

Stiles can't say anything.

"Just tell me where you've been." His eyes are wide, pleading.

But Stiles can't. Because this life is dangerous, and he's already let someone down.

He wasn't there, and his dad got shot. _His dad got shot,_ because Stiles wasn't doing what he promised he would. Protect people. Follow his dad's footsteps.

He was selfish. But not anymore. He's not going to selfishly lead someone into danger.

Stiles doesn't say anything, and Derek stands, sneering cruelly.

"I’m out.” He scoffs, but his movements are jerky. “Bye, Stiles. You're clearly very busy, _too busy,_ for me, so you don't have to worry. I'll get out your hair. Nice knowing you."

He's out the door and walking down the street before Stiles can collect his jaw and scramble after him.

"Derek! Derek wait!"

Derek spins, and Stiles – Stiles' heart crushes into fine powdered dust at the stinging hurt in his eyes, the visible pain over his face.

"Save the excuses Stiles, okay. I don't know what it is _you are_ , or what it is _you do_ , but frankly - I don't care anymore." Derek holds his hands up. "I'm done."

Stiles opens his mouth, and despite what he just said, Derek still waits, but only for a moment before scoffing harshly and walking away.

Stiles stands, rooted to the spot, holding his orange juice with his feet glued to the tarmac, watching the terse line of Derek's retreating back, and feels a numb emptiness spread throughout his chest into his lungs, suffocating him.

*

*

"I've never really been through a breakup." Derek says.

"But you and Kate broke up?" Stiles asks in confusion.

"Yes, and I stayed home and cried every night, in my pyjamas with a tub of ice cream and Love Actually." Derek levels him with a flat look.

Stiles stares for a moment, tapping fingers against his mouth. "I know it's a joke." He begins, one finger held up. "It's just - the mental image just keeps coming at me." He flicks his fingers at his face.

"That was the intention." Derek informs him gravely. "And I meant I've never been through a difficult break up."

"Ah." Stiles says, flushing.

Derek raises an eyebrow, clearly teasing. “You?”

Stiles clears his throat. “Nah. Never had to deal with the screaming and the crying.”

“Sometimes they’re not like that.” Derek murmurs. His tone has changed, playfulness gone. “I mean I heard they’re." He cuts off. "It’s hard to explain.”

“Yeah.” Stiles starts, even though he really doesn’t.

“I heard they suck. For everyone.” He states. “Even the person doing the breaking up.”

*

*

Derek Hale walks to school every morning during the summer, because he enjoys waking up earlier, and basking in the heat.

He sheds his leather jacket and wears soft, touchable cotton t-shirts and shorts, skin shining brown in the sun. He smiles at people passing on the street nowadays, a friendly, genial gesture. He answers to anybody who addresses him in school, nods in reply.

Derek studies, although he mostly reads for leisure, out in his backyard basking in the afternoon glow. He runs for an hour each week, in focused, confidant strides, barely breaking out in a sweat, although he sometimes has to stop to take his contacts out and put his hay-fever drops in.

He brushes his hair quickly, forgoes shaving and takes little notice over his appearance. He spends five seconds in front of the mirror, throws on clothes, carelessly runs a hand over his stubbled cheek.

He's not trying to draw any attention to himself, in fact, he's trying to disappear.

He's finally discovered that the best route is politeness, that point-blank ignorance only gains more attention.

And so, Derek is nice, says 'hello' and 'how are you?' He's open, spends time with his friends and family, goes places and does things and lives his life.

His smile slips when he isn't talking to anybody.

Walking down the street when he's sure nobody is looking. His expression changes, although it's difficult to categorise.

It's something subtle, the way his facial features drop the façade of easy-going happiness, slacken into a kind of tired, resigned blankness. The way the poised friendliness bleeds from his posture, replaced with heavy exhaustion.

He stops as he passes the newspaper stands, freezes in his steps before moving on. He turns away from the TV when the breaking news flashes onto the screen, balls his hands, shoulders tensing.

But he follows every story religiously, follows every journalism and newspaper account, keeps up to date with current events. In bed, he sits with his laptop shining, reflecting off his reading glasses.

Spends hours scrolling and scrolling endlessly, through any update on social media - the latest crime, any recent news – a drugs bust, a high-speed car chase, a domestic fire.

Sits and waits for the page to load, watching the little buffering sign, fingers restlessly drumming.

He glances to Stiles because he thinks Stiles doesn't notice: these quick, fluttering glances.

Sometimes they linger, those green eyes boring into the side of Stiles' head.

Sometimes he doesn't look at Stiles at all.

Grocery shopping, he stands by the juice isle, a sort of melancholic fondness coming across his face. He touches two fingers to a Tropicana he never buys.

Derek Hale is sad.


	12. Understandings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so typically, I promised to finish this and then disappeared for another month. I really can't apologise enough, as I know all you patient peeps are patiently waiting, but I'm so close to the end, it's in sight, I can taste it.

He watches, now.

It’s just the same as before. It’s exactly the same – Stiles sits on a building, any building, and watches Derek live his life, watches his life move on without Stiles in it.

Nothing has changed. He still sees everyone is the hallway, but they avert their eyes and pass him by now. He still changes into a suit and adorns a mask and tries to make the world a better place, as naïve and foolish as it might be. He still watches Derek Hale rush to classes, run to the coffee shop, smile and talk and _live_.

Nothing has changed.

(Except everything has changed, because his dad isn’t here, Stiles still hasn’t found who shot him, and he wakes up every morning gasping and sweating as if he’s being _torn apart_ –)

 

*

His body is battered, bruised. His ribs hurt. His face is _screaming_ in white-hot, blinding pain, eyelids barely opening, but Stiles grins, laughs, throws his head back.

“Is that _it?”_ He cries. “C’mon!”

He flings his arms open, but it’s a mistake, because one of them – the one with the bat – takes the opportunity to grab Stiles’ arm and bring the weapon down.

Stiles _screeches_ , the sickening crack of the bone snapping and the agony ripping its way up his throat and breaking free.

He should have called the police. He should have stopped as soon as he got the man’s wallet back, as soon as he had carried him to safety.

But Stiles came back.

“Look at his suit.” One of them is laughing, spitting the words through teeth. “Thinks he’s some superhero, fuckin’ hilarious.”

“Looks as if he’s put on his little brother’s costume.”

There’s laughter, sneering and cruel.

They don’t expect Stiles to laugh with them. They don’t expect him to bend over and laugh, clutching his sides as if that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

They don’t expect him to shake out his arm, grinning wide and crazed. And they really don’t expect him to square his shoulders, lick his stinging, bleeding lip, and hurtle himself forward.

 

*

*

Derek Hale buys a blueberry muffin and a to-go decaf latte from his usual coffee shop at 7:15AM - although he can be early sometimes, and he might sit for a moment at the window, stare out at the passer-byers and watch them move through the streets, or late, and rush in with his hair a disarray, then rush back out to run to school.

He breezes inside, slides into the crowded table and is immediately greeted with his friends – or to the outside world: the popular kids. He quietly finishes his breakfast, quietly nods if he’s spoken to, and quietly goes about his life.

It’s as if they never happened. As though it was all some surreal, hyper-realistic dream Stiles had.

Stiles might almost be inclined to believe that, were it not for Scott’s disappointed glances, or the two saved photos on Stiles’ phone that he can never force himself to delete.

His thumb, every day, will however over the button, but he knows as soon as he presses down that it’ll really, truly be over.

Stiles curls up at the chair by his dad’s bed, the blinking hospital lights a soft glow in the small room, and sighs.

“Hey, kiddo.” A croaky, rough voice says.

Stiles jerks up so fast it’s as if he’s been electrocuted, legs scrambling and head whipping around to the noise.

_I’ve gone insane. I’ve finally lost my mind._

John’s eyes are open and watching him, the tired lines around his face coming to life, wrinkles deepening his features as they stretch up into a smile.

Stiles is shaking, he can see that he’s shaking, but he just can’t _feel_ it, is the thing, he doesn’t feel it as he reaches out with unsteady hands to clasp his dad’s, lying on the bed.

“D – dad?” Stiles’ voice wobbles and breaks, and then tears spilling over, water that he hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even _felt_ , suddenly pouring down his cheeks.

His dad nods. “Sorry about that.” He rasps.

“Always playing the hero.” Stiles laughs, but it’s a little high, a little strained and trembling. “Wonder where I get that from.”

“Probably your mother.” John huffs, but Stiles is standing, suddenly needing to do something, to _move_.

“Wait, you shouldn’t – you need water, don’t talk so much, I should get the nurse –” he’s babbling, words coming out too fast and quick.

“Stiles.” His dad says, and Stiles stops, freezing where he had been desperately searching for a plastic cup.

His dad holds out a hand. “Come here.”

Stiles is there in an instant, bending down and taking the offered hand in both of his. He feels like a child, he feels seven again, desperate to do anything to please, to bring anything and do anything, if only it helped, even for a second.

“Stiles.” He starts again, voice a bare whisper. “I’m never, ever leaving you.”

Stiles gasps: a broken, choked-off sound, and shakes his head, but then his dad is carrying on.

“And I want you to promise the same.”

Stiles blinks, tears stilling on his face, drying tight on his cheeks. “What?”

“I want you to promise you’ll never do anything to put yourself in danger.” His dad asks.

Stiles blinks. “I – of course.”

“Then what’s that.” John nods his head over to the edge of the bed.

The suit lies discarded, carelessly thrown over the side of the chair where Stiles had left it after changing out of it the bathroom.

His throat dries in the space of a second. He brings wide, frightened eyes to his dad.

John huffs. “I’m not annoyed.” He smiles. “I’ve had my suspicions.”

“Dad, you don’t –” Stiles starts.

“Understand?” His dad asks, eyebrow raising.

Stiles shrinks, guilt churning in his gut.

“I think I understand well enough.” His dad tells him gruffly. “Son of a sheriff, after all.” His mouth ticks. “And you’re your mothers double.”

_It must be the medication. It must be the pain, the drugs, the hospital water._

“Yeah?” Stiles finds himself asking, leaning forward in the chair.

His dad nods. “Oh yeah. Always head first into the fire, that one.”

Stiles laughs, more of a wet, hacked-off cough than anything, but then his dad is fixing him with a gaze.

“You’ve done something stupid, haven’t you?” He says, as if it’s fact.

Stiles blinks, his whole body falling still.

His dad’s eyes are unflinching, mouth a tight line. “I can see it, you know. Wasn’t born yesterday.”

Stiles’ eyes fall to the floor, shame coiling in his gut, winding his throat closed.

He wonders what he must look like – exhausted, thin, bruises underneath his eyes and everywhere else on his body.

“You can always make things right.” John tells him. “No matter where you are, what situation you’re in, even up until the last second, you can always do the right thing.”

Stiles nods, unable to bring his eyes up. “I know.”

He feels weak fingers squeeze his hand, and Stiles is squeezing back.

 

*

When word gets out, people glance at him in the hallways, murmur words and flick their eyes away.

Stiles is loading up his locker when he feels a presence by his side, and turns his head –

Derek has his arms crossed, expression blank.

Stiles straightens instantly, his pulse jolting to a sudden start. “Derek.” He starts, embarrassingly high and breathy.

Derek nods. “How is your dad?” He asks, voice stripped of emotion, curt and monotone.

Stiles nods too, swallowing around the hard, lodged lump in his throat. “Good. On the mend.”

Derek clears his throat, glancing away. “Good.” He states.

“Derek –”

“See you.” Derek says, and then he’s turning his back, the terse line of his shoulders straight and stiff, and walking away.

 

*

Stiles holds a finger to his lip and moves into the room in silence, glancing around at the terrified, ashen faces staring back at him.

“If you run downstairs, around the corner and don’t look back, the police will find you.” He’s saying, holding the door to the cramped, dingy room open. “Go, _go!”_ He hisses.

The girls are scrambling up in seconds, clothes torn and bodies beaten, and some of them stumble and fall, but Stiles is there, ushering them downstairs, all the while a finger to his lips as they sneak past the men asleep in other room.

As soon as they’re out, as soon as they’re all out, Stiles doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t even glance.

He just dials the number, waiting until the line connects before handing it over to one of the girls. She holds the phone shakily to her ear, a mumbled, ‘ _hello?’_ , but that’s all Stiles hears before he’s shooting his web out and flying away.

 

*

_BREAKING NEWS: VICTIMS OF HUMAN TRAFFICKING RESCUED BY SPIDER-MAN._

_The eight girls who went missing during summer have now all been found, some in critical condition, all due to the heroics of one man._

_Spider-Man was nowhere to be seen, but various reports, including multiple eye-witnesses from the victims, include a masked man wearing a costume, the familiar signature of our favourite vigilante._

_“At first we thought he was going to hurt us.” Sophia, age seventeen, says. “Every day, I thought I was going to die. I still can’t believe –”_

_The girls were quickly overwhelmed, but have since been reunited with their families. The police have very little to say on the matter, and no further information has been brought forward._

*

Stiles hides the newspapers from his dad, switches off the TV whenever he visits and places the remote further away each time, but there’s still a tiredness in his dad’s eyes when he looks at Stiles now.

They’re calling him the modern superhero. They’re calling out for him to reveal himself.

Stiles doesn’t feel like a hero. He feels like a kid, wearing shoes too big for him, caught up in something he doesn’t understand. This world is dark, dangerous, ugly and cruel. He doesn’t want to see any more of it.

The night that it happens is just like any ordinary night.

Stiles has the drawing memorised. The rough, quick sketch of his father’s attacker. It’s burned to his retina’s, folded neatly in his pocket so he can take it out and look at it.

But it’s more than that. It’s the tattoo.

It’s just a star. Just a plain, black outline on the man’s wrist.

And its same tattoo he saw on a mugger that he let escape.

Stiles had considered going after him, but the woman was shaken and scared, and Stiles stayed.

He let him get away.

And then that man shot his dad.

Every night for the past three weeks, Stiles has swooped down on unsuspecting burglars, pinned them to the wall and ripped their sleeve up. And every night, he’s gritted his teeth and shoved them away without so much as a backward glance, already moving onto the next street.

He sees the figure in the distance, head bowed, the collar of their jacket turned up.

And he sees them, very clearly, bump into someone’s shoulder, hold up a hand to apologise, and slide the other one into their bag, lifting their purse and turning to slip it into their pocket.

Stiles waits until he sees the man sneak into some abandoned alleyway.

Then he swoops down.

“Nice work.” He calls, feet hitting the ground in one smooth motion.

The man startles, whipping around, pulling something from there sleeve –

Stiles cowers, both hands raised.

“Oh no. Oh God. My one weakness.” He gasps. “It’s … _small knives.”_

The man stares at him, from his knife back to Stiles. “What the –” he starts, but then Stiles shoots a hand out, his web flying to his man’s wrist and sticking it to the wall.

“Hey, you –” the guy starts, but Stiles simply flicks his web onto his other wrist, and then both legs, winding tight and securing him to the brick wall behind him.

“The fuck _are_ you?” He shouts, desperately struggling, and Stiles grins, wolfish, pulls the sleeve of his jacket –

There’s a ringing in his ears.

There’s noise, even though it’s coming from nowhere. It’s sudden and unexplainable and _there_ , right in Stiles’ ears.

He stares, frozen, his head singing.

Inked onto the skin of his wrist, in black lines, is a star.

Stiles’ hand flies up to wrap around the mugger’s throat.

 _“You.”_ He barely recognises his own voice. It comes out distant, strange.

The man’s eyes grow wide and white. “Wh –” he starts, but Stiles doesn’t let him finish, cuts off the noise before it makes it past his lips, cuts off the air inside his lungs as he tightens his fingers, gripping down on the fleshy length of his neck.

The man gasps, writhing, but Stiles isn’t listening.

“It was _you_.” He pushes down harder. “You – you did it, it was you.”

“I don’t –”

 _“You shot my dad!”_ Stiles cries, mouth open and right in front of the man’s face. _“YOU SHOT HIM!”_ He screeches, the words pouring out. “It was _you!”_

The man can’t breathe, Stiles distantly realises that he can’t breathe, his feet are kicking against the wall, his face is draining, but Stiles can’t find it in himself to care.

“ _John Stillinski_ , his name’s _John Stilinski_ , you put a bullet through his chest, you put him in a _coma for a month_ , you -", Stiles feels his grip tightening, impossibly, the white noise in his head consuming him. _“I’ll kill you!”_ He shrieks.

When Stiles was studying with Derek one night, he came across a word he didn’t understand.

“What.” He started, frowning, and turned to Derek. “Do you know what pyrrhic means?”

“I think I’ve heard of it.” Derek tilted his head. “Like – in a war, a pyrrhic victory would be for too many lives to be lost for it to even be a victory. You won, but you didn’t, not really.”

“Huh.” Stiles stated. Pyrrhic.

He’s staring into the eyes of the man who nearly killed his dad, but it’s all pyrrhic. It’s just all pyrrhic. He’s already lost too much for it to even matter anymore.

He’s lost his friends. He’s lost Derek. He nearly lost his dad, and he thought he had. He did for a while. He was totally alone, and he still is.

He’s lost it all, and for what? To stare into his man’s eyes and see fear reflected back at him, to squeeze his throat and suffocate the life out of his worthless body?

 _No matter where you are, what situation you’re in_.

_Even up until the last second, you can always do the right thing._

Stiles lets go.

There’s still ringing in his ears, but it’s fading fast, as if he’s coming up from being underwater.

The man gasps, gasps a great, long inhale, coughing, choking.

Stiles feels his fists by his side, feels the anger thrumming through his veins and in his blood, ready to swallow him whole, ready to set him alight.

His fingers tremble as he punches in the number.

“Police, please.” His voice comes out wrong – disconnected, not his. “Yes, I found the man that shot John Stillinski.”

 

*

He doesn’t know where to go. He doesn't know what to do.

He can’t look at his dad. Not after seeing Jordan cuff the mugger, look from the purplish finger-marks around his throat to Stiles. Not after watching the man that nearly took everything from him be escorted into a car and driven away.

His whole body thrums, residual energy and adrenaline coursing through him. But everywhere hurts, everywhere is exhausted, his bones feel heavy and his spine aches.

He wants to lie down somewhere, anywhere, and sleep for days.

He wants Derek to wrap strong arms around him and hold him again. He wants to hear Derek’s voice, calm and composed, deep and familiar in the midst of this storm. He wants to see the crinkles around Derek’s eyes when he smiles, his features softening.

He wants Derek.

Stiles knows the route from memory, and his body acts almost on instinct, without his permission. He finds himself outside Derek’s window, watching into a life that he doesn’t belong in anymore, without really understanding how he even got there.

Derek is sitting by his desk, reading glasses on as he types away on his laptop. A strand of hair falls over his forehead, and he brushes it back carelessly.

It sends a sharp pang through Stiles, deep into his chest.

He’s illuminated by the soft glow of his bedroom light, haloed by muted yellow, and Stiles has never missed anything as much.

His brain feels sluggish, slow, as he lowers himself onto the fire escape, his hand coming to rest on the glass that separates them.

Derek hasn’t noticed him, still typing, but then Stiles is lifting up the latch, as quietly as possible.

Derek startles and whips around.

Stiles puts his foot inside, setting it down gently, and Derek just stares.

Then Stiles raises a hand and pulls off the mask, letting it fall away, his hair ruffled and disarrayed. He stares at Derek, his face open and bare, eyes wide and honest.

Derek stares back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well then.


	13. Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a shorter update to spread out the events in the following chapters. In other news, we're finally reaching the end of this one, and I'm so sorry it's taken to long, but I'll also be sad to say goodbye! It's been so much fun to write, whenever I can actually make myself

Derek simply stares as Stiles stands there, mask in one hand, full Spider-Man suit on.

And then he sighs, glancing off to the side and swallowing.

“I kept waiting.” He says softly, looking back at Stiles, face open and bare. “For you to tell me.”

Stiles can only stare. He suddenly feels lightheaded, faint, and stumbles, legs weak and folding underneath him.

Derek is there in an instant, two strong hands supporting him, holding him up, and then there’s a sharp curse in his ear.

“ _Jesus,_ Stiles.” Derek hisses. “What the hell have you been _doing?”_

Stiles looks down to find his arm is bleeding, a thick gash running all the way down his bicep.

He hadn’t even noticed. The mugger must have caught him with the knife, but Stiles hadn’t felt any pain. He hadn't even realised.

Derek is lowering him to the floor by his bed, and Stiles slumps listlessly, tilting his head back until he feels careful, gentle fingers ripping at the sleeve of his suit, and then the touch of somethin cold.

“Ah.” Stiles jerks back.

Derek gives him an unimpressed look, bent over his arm with a cotton wool pad. “That was water. I still have to disinfect it.”

Stiles finds himself huffing a laugh, and sees the corners of Derek’s mouth curling before he brings something out from underneath his bed.

An emergency first-aid kit.

Stiles frowns, but Derek simply rolls his eyes.

“I bought it after I figured it out.” He tells Stiles, voice soft. “I thought it might come in useful.”

Stiles can only stare, dumbfounded. “When?” He breathes.

“Before we started dating.” Derek states.

The reminder of their relationship is like a sharp, jagged blade to his chest, more visceral than any wound. Stiles looks away, finds his eyes burning.

“Derek.” He tries.

“Shh.” Derek murmurs, wiping his cut. “I just thought because we were friends, you might have told me. But you never said anything, so I thought I was just being stupid.” He swallows. “Then after we started dating, I knew because of how many times you had to leave. I always told myself, _‘he’ll tell me today. I just have to wait.’”_

Stiles feels his throat sting. “I wanted to.” He croaks. “Every day, Derek, I wanted to.”

Derek looks up then, and his eyes are startlingly clear and green – _vivid_ , just as Stiles remembers them.

“I miss you.” Stiles blurts. “I miss you, every second of every minute, I was so stupid –-”

“Stiles –-” Derek starts.

“And I know, I _know_ Derek, but I’m trying to _protect you_ –-”

Derek glances down sharply, but Stiles reaches out, curling fingers around his jaw, stroking his hand along Derek’s cheek.

“I love you.” He whispers brokenly. “I love you so much Derek.”

Derek shakes his head, harsh. “No.” He rasps.

“I do.” Stiles leans closer until their foreheads are touching, and brushes his nose with Derek’s. “I love you.”

Derek keeps shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut. “No, Stiles.”

“Yes.” Stiles whispers, his other hand coming up to frame Derek’s face, to cup his soft cheeks and stroke thumbs along his sharp cheekbones.

Derek pulls back. “No.”

Stiles’ hands are frozen mid-air, fingers outstretched, but Derek turns his head away and out of Stiles’ reach.

He feels his eyes burn, feels his throat close up enough to suffocate him. He nods, not trusting his voice, and lets his hands fall.

Derek goes back to cleaning his cut, and Stiles doesn’t say anything.

“Every day.” Derek whispers, his voice choked and thick in the silence between them as he brings his eyes up to meet Stiles’. “Every day, Stiles, since the day Spider-Man saved me from some traffic, I’ve watched him fly across the sky and take down the bad guys, and _every day_ , I haven’t known if I’ll hear on the news that he’s been shot, or hurt, or that’s he fallen off some building.”

Stiles reaches up again, but this time, he isn’t pushed away, and he takes Derek’s face in his hands as Derek stares, eyes shining wet, back at him.

“Shh.” He murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

Derek lifts a hand to hold  the one on his face, to grip Stiles’ wrist, and then both hands are rising to hold Stiles onto his cheek, to leans into the touch.

Stiles presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. “I’ve got you.”

Derek just shakes his head against Stiles, but he’s breathing hard, and Stiles holds him through it, just holds him as he feels the wetness from Derek’s eyelashes soak onto his cheeks, slide down his jaw and neck.

“I can’t do it, Stiles.” Derek gasps. “I can’t watch you anymore, knowing that if Spider-Man disappears someone else will just take his place, because Spider-Man is temporary, but Stiles, _Stiles.”_ Derek grips him, squeezes his wrist. “Stiles isn’t.”

Stiles’ throat is clogged. “I have to, Derek.”

“No.” Derek says. “You don’t.”

“You don’t understand.” Stiles can barely speak. “It’s my responsibility. People need me, they need Spider-Man.”

 _“I_ need you.” Derek opens his eyes, his gaze dark. “I need Stiles. Not some superhero.”

Stiles swallows, his throat dry and sore.

“I’m trying to help people.” Stiles croaks. “It’s all I can do. Otherwise what would be the point? What’s the point of being able to help if I don’t?”

“The point is you’d be _alive.”_ Derek hisses. “You’d be _safe._ I don’t care about the rest. I don’t care if it’s selfish. That’s the only thing I _can_ care about, Stiles.”

Stiles shakes his head, suddenly overcome. A sob wells up inside his chest, wanting to escape, but he turns his face into Derek’s chest to stifle it.

Familiar arms come to wrap around him, to enfold him in warmth, and _this_ is what Stiles wanted – not Spider-Man, not Peter Parker, not the superhero, but _Stiles_ , plain old geeky, teenage boy Stiles, only wants this. This is all he’s ever wanted.

He doesn’t want the fame, the danger, the adrenaline, the fans. All he’s ever wanted is a boy called Derek Hale.

He fists a hand into the back of Derek’s shirt and breathes in the familiar, rusty book smell, mingled with his laundry-detergent and something else, something deeper and softer that’s just _Derek._

Derek’s grip is just as tight, just as crushing, but it also feels as though it seals back together the broken pieces of him that shattered the moment Derek left in the diner.

They stay that way for a while, just embracing, holding one another, until there’s a knock on Derek’s door, and Stiles jerks back so violently he almost gets head rush.

“Derek, honey, do you want any cocoa?” Talia’s voice floats to them. “Laura’s making some.”

Derek gives him wide, no-nonsense eyes. “Stay there.” He whispers, and then he scrambles up towards the door and sticks his head out.

“No, mom.” He states, his voice rushed, holding the edge of the door. “I do not want cocoa. Honestly, I’m _seventeen_ years old.”

“Alright.” Stiles hears, amusement obvious in Talia’s tone. “I just thought I remembered somebody saying last week that their future plans were to live in a chocolate house.”

“Well, that’s – incredibly impractical.” Derek flounders, and slams the door closed. He opens is again. “And fattening.” He states.

Derek leans against the door for a moment.

“Chocolate house?” Stiles mouths, grinning wide.

Derek gives him an unimpressed expression, and then he grimaces. He opens the door again, but sheepishly this time. “I’m sorry, mom, I’m just – I’m working on – I have, uh, I’m sick.” He finishes with.

“Oh.” Talia says.

“Just – really sick, I don’t feel well at all.” Derek lies, _badly,_ ruffling his hair and scratching the nape of his neck.

“Oh, honey.” Talia begins. “Is this about Stiles?”

Stiles watches the line of Derek’s back stiffen.

“I – no, I’m just –-” Derek stutters.

“I know it hasn’t been the same since you two broke up.” Talia carries on, unawares. “It’ll get better, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, mom.” Derek replies tersely. “I’m just – I really do have a lot of work, and I’m still not feeling great –-”

“Of course, of course.” Stiles hears the sound of footsteps retreating, and then Derek is closing the door again, turning to him.

“Come on.” Derek begins, settling by his side again. “I still have to clean this.”

Stiles is silent as he brings out the antiseptic.

“Have you really been bad?” He asks, before he can help himself.

Derek shoots him a look. “What do you think?”

Stiles looks down. “You broke up with me.” He whispers.

Derek doesn’t reply. “Just let me do this.” He says at last.

“I haven’t spoken to you in two weeks.” Stiles carries on. “I’ve barely even seen you. I don’t sleep, I can’t eat. It’s been like – the worst time of my whole life.”

Derek’s jaw is clenched. “I’m not doing this here, Stiles.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles frowns.

“I’m not – my parents are right downstairs, they’re gonna notice voices eventually. I’m bandaging this up and then you need to leave.” Derek looks at him then, cuts him a sharp gaze, and Stiles tries not to show his hurt.

“Alright.” He murmurs, very quietly, and averts his eyes.

Derek makes quick work of it, not wasting any time.

Stiles stands as soon as he’s done and just shuffles on the spot awkwardly, not sure what he expects, not sure what _to_ expect. He wants to touch Derek, even just a pat on his shoulder, a short hug, some kind of contact, just _something_ , but Derek puts distance between them and evades him easily.

“Um.” Stiles starts, voice rough. “Thank you.”

Derek nods, glancing toward the open window.

Stiles knows when to take a hint. He clenches his jaw and puts his foot on the ledge.

“For the record.” Derek starts, and Stiles stops, turns around.

“If you had done this two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have broken up with you.” Derek tells him, soft, and then he goes back to his desk.


	14. Heights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter is over 3K, and I apologise, but I figured you guys deserve it for how patiently you've been waiting, and now I have more good news -- the last chapter is basically written, and I plan on finishing this fic sometime in the next few days, at the latest sometime next week. 
> 
> YOU DIDN'T THINK I WOULD DO IT, DID YA?? In all honesty I will complete every single one of my fics, even if it does take 2 years
> 
> warning: angst then happy

His dad's brought home a week later, and Stiles helps him from the car with a hand steadying his arm, but John just huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Really, Stiles, I’m not disabled.”

“You could have been.” Stiles reminds, for probably the hundredth time. “Alright, just about an inch to the left –”

“Yeah, yeah.” John grumbles.

“You tell me about being careful.” Stiles points a finger with the hand currently not supporting his dad up, even though John is walking fine. “I don’t want any more phone calls telling me about your self-sacrificing deeds.”

John doesn’t reply, but he does smile at Stiles then, fondness and warmth in his eyes.

“You’ve always looked after me, kid.” He says, and ruffles Stiles’ hair. “Ever since it’s been just me and you.”

Stiles nods, a tightness to his throat making it painful to swallow.

He doesn’t say anything, but he does guide his dad through the front door, and feels so grateful to all the inches that kept a bullet from his dad’s heart that it stings his eyes.

 

*

He’s making a salad in the kitchen when the news blares across the television, some kind of house fire that’s spread out of control, and Stiles feels his fingers tighten around the blade he’s using to chop carrots.

“Stiles –” John begins.

“Can you turn it off?” Stiles asks, pointedly staring at where his hands are gripping the knife.

His dad blinks. “But –”

“Just turn it off.” Stiles states, jaw clenched.

His dad does as he asks, and there’s a ringing silence throughout the room, heavy and tense.

They’re both quiet, neither one of them saying anything.

Stiles thinks, in that moment, that his dad was right. His dad is always right.

_Power brings responsibility._

Because ever since Stiles has actually had the power to make a difference, he’s felt responsible for doing it too.

He sets the bowl down between them on the dinner table, and receives a smile.

 _I’m not going anywhere,_ Stiles is saying.

 

*

He sees Derek in places.

Passes him in the hallways, spots him in his usual corner of the library. Most of the time Stiles will avert his eyes, turn away and try to pretend as if he hadn’t been silently stalking.

Only sometimes Derek will look up, catch his gaze, blink and give Stiles a slight nod.

Stiles’ heart will jerk in his chest as if he’s still that skinny boy with a crush, as if he never dated Derek Hale at all, as if he doesn’t know what Derek’s skin tastes like and the sounds he makes when he falls apart –

So Stiles nods back, glances away.

He hasn’t spoken to the others since he and Derek broke up. They avoid his gaze, but Erica still shoots him accusatory looks anytime he catches sight of her, and Isaac will still give him puppy-dog eyes across the canteen.

At first Scott was bewildered, too in disbelief and in denial to even imagine Stiles and Derek breaking up, but now, he knows to not even bring the subject up anymore.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” He’d asked, tugging on Stiles shirt sleeve, but Stiles just shrugged him off.

“Just _try.”_ Scott insisted, but Stiles shook his head, silent.

He already had.

He’s already talked to Derek, but it didn’t make a difference. He's screwed up, beyond forgiveness. He knows that now.

Scott didn't ask anymore after that. It was something unspoken between them, not talked about. Scott still hung around with the others, and he was still with Kira, but he stayed with Stiles at lunch, despite Stiles’ insistence that he was fine, _just go, I’m fine._

Derek starts to notice eventually. It would be hard _not_ to notice the tension in the air whenever Stiles so much as entered the vicinity, but the glances shot between the two groups – Scott and Stiles’ small corner, and then everyone else’s two tables joined together – are impossible to ignore.

Stiles thinks he sees Derek’s shoulders slump, a sigh escaping his lips, as Erica raises her eyebrows to Scott, who shakes his head furiously.

His cheeks burn hot, realising that all he is now to Derek is a burden.

Stiles glances down, swallowing the burning hurt lodged in his throat.

“I’m just gonna –” Stiles starts, standing up and practically clattering out his seat in his haste to get away, but then he’s swinging his backpack over his shoulder and making a run for it.

“Stiles –” Scott blinks up at him, but Stiles waves him off, already headed toward the double doors of the school.

 

*

He’s walking home when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

Stiles pulls it out instantly, already expecting it to be Scott but not taking any chances, when the caller ID makes him pause, slow in walking.

_Derek_

His palms are sweaty, pulse already hammering in his throat. “Uh. Hey.” He stutters.

“Hi.” Derek begins.

Stiles closes his eyes against the sound of his voice – how he’s _missed_ that voice, the deep, familiar sound of it.

“I think we need to talk.” Derek says, and Stiles is trying to decipher his tone, the emotion in it, but he’s coming up short.

“Alright.” Stiles breathes. “Alright.”

 

*

He can see Derek standing, a little way away, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket as he looks out into the city lights, watching the cars pass, and Stiles –

Stiles is crossing the road, barely caring about the traffic, barely caring about _anything_ , because Derek is right there, and he’s turning as he sees Stiles coming towards him, the soft flicker of a smile twisting the corners of his mouth.

“Hi.” Stiles states, stopping short and just grinning, because Derek is looking at him, ducking his head in bashfulness.

“Hey.” Derek replies, a flush already crawling its way across his cheeks.

Stiles nods, just looking, and Derek huffs a laugh, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Sorry about the spontaneous … spontaneity of this.” He waves a hand around, embarrassed.

“No, I – spontaneous is good.” Stiles shakes his head, and before he can even stop himself, his mouth is babbling. “You look amazing, by the way.”

Derek clears his throat, the flush deepening, as if Stiles doesn’t see him every day in school anyway.

“I just – I figured it was time.” Derek carries on, and Stiles’ heart leaps, pounding against his ribcage.

“Time?” He asks, and prays that the slow blossoming hope in his voice isn’t obvious.

“Yeah.” Derek nods, jerky, and clears his throat. “Time that we tried to be friends.”

Stiles blinks, expression freezing. “Ah.” He states.

“I just don’t want things to be complicated.” Derek explains, eyes roving over Stiles’ face.

“Yeah, of course.” Stiles nods, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.”

Derek swallows, the muscles of his jaw clenching, and they start walking down the street.

“I mean, ah –” Stiles starts, and huffs, burying his hands in his own pockets. “Ahah, if we’re gonna be friends, I think we should establish some ground rules.”

Derek turns to him with a raised eyebrow, curiosity written across his face. “Ground rules?” He smirks, a playful hint to his voice.

“Yeah.” Stiles states. “Some ground rules. Like that.” He points to Derek’s face, and Derek pauses, a furrow appearing between his brows.

“Like what?”

“That little – that little smirk thing you do when you’re teasing me.” He says, and shakes his head. “No more of that.”

But it only increases tenfold – the arch of Derek’s eyebrow grows higher, amusement seeping into his expression, into the brightness of his eyes.

“I’m so serious Derek.” Stiles is shaking his head, but he’s smiling. “It’s not fair.”

“Alright, alright, I have a ground rule.” Derek starts, holding up a hand. “Don’t tell me I look amazing.” He states, pointing a finger at Stiles’ face and mimicking Stiles.

Stiles glances down, until Derek is continuing.

“With those big brown, doe eyes.” He says, and Stiles lifts his head, blinking up at Derek.

Derek seems closer than he did a moment ago, and Stiles stops walking, just looks at Derek illuminated by the streetlight, the sharp angles of his face softened.

“I’m actually, really serious about that one.” Derek tells him, but he’s grinning now, and Stiles finds himself grinning back.

Until Derek reaches up with one hand and rubs the tip of his nose with his knuckle.

“Oh God.” Stiles starts.

“What?” Derek asks, frowning.

“I’ve just figured out the next ground rule.” Stiles tells him.

 _“What?”_ Derek repeats, but he’s laughing.

“No more of this.” Stiles says, and rubs his own nose. “No more of this little nose thing.”

“Wh – this?” Derek chuckles, and does it again.

“This is killing me.” Stiles informs him.

“I have to itch my nose!” Derek laughs.

“You’re spitting in the face of my ground rules.” Stiles says, and holds up his hands. “If you can’t respect them, I’m out.”

“Wh – Stiles!” Derek laughs after him as he walks away, but then he’s coming back.

“First.” Stiles holds up a finger. “We get ice-cream. Then I’m out.”

Derek’s grin is blinding.

 

*

“So yeah.” Derek is waving a hand as he gestures, spoon hanging out his mouth. “I got _totally_ addicted to this place that does these Korean meatballs –”

“Oh yeah!” Stiles nods, and Derek turns to him.

“You’ve heard of it?” He perks up.

“No, dude, you love it there.” Stiles laughs. “You go, like, every week.”

It’s only after the words are out his mouth that Stiles realises his mistake. Derek pauses, taking the spoon from his mouth as he looks down at his feet.

“How do you know that?” Derek’s soft question comes after a moment.

Stiles keeps walking, pretending he didn’t hear. “Mm?” He asks, taking a generous scoop of ice-cream.

“How do you know I love it there?” Derek repeats.

Stiles clears his throat, thinking wildly of some excuse. “I, uh – because you told me.” He tries, lamely, and resists the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

Derek has stopped walking now, forcing Stiles to turn.

“It just opened last month.” Derek says, and Stiles can only huff, run his hand along the railing of the bridge they’re walking across.

“Ah.” Is all he can offer, a flush heating his cheeks.

“Have you been following me?” Derek inquires, head tilting as he looks at Stiles.

Stiles feels vulnerable, _exposed,_ and all he can do is duck is head and not deny it.

But Derek is smiling, soft and warm. “I knew it.” He murmurs. “I _knew_ it.”

Stiles is quiet, the only sounds the whirring of the city life and Derek’s soft breathing.

“How often?” He asks after a moment.

Stiles looks up, looks into Derek’s clear, green eyes. “Just – just once a day.” He murmurs, barely a whisper. “Sometimes more. But only once a day, on the way home.”

Derek glances away, off to the side, looking out into the water. “Oh boy.” He breathes, taking in a breath and exhaling it out. Then he turns back to Stiles. “Why?” He asks. “Make sure I’m safe?”

Stiles’ throat is tight, constricting. “Yeah, and –” he nods, but cuts himself off, unable to carry on.

“And?” Derek repeats softly.

“And because it’s closest I get to actually still _being with you_ , Derek.” He admits, all his pent-up feelings pouring out in those words, hands clenching inside his pockets as emotion threatens to overwhelm him.

Derek simply stares, his face stripped bare, naked. He just looks at Stiles, eyes wide and honest.

Stiles stares back, and then he leans in and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes and breathing in, just basking in the proximity, unable to resist any longer.

Derek doesn’t push him away, doesn’t do anything. He only inhales shakily, nudging Stiles back with his nose, and so Stiles tips his face, their mouth inches apart –

“I’m moving to England.” Derek breathes out.

Stiles freezes.

His eyes open first, and then he pulls back. “What?”

“Yeah, I – I’m up for a scholarship.” Derek explains. “To Oxford. In molecular medicine, uh, and it’s between me and this other kid, and there’s this interview we both have to do but he’s already like, a freshman in collage at fourteen, and it could be him.” Derek is babbling, but he takes a shaky breath to look at Stiles and swallow.

“But it might be me, and I – I hope it’s me.” He finishes.

Stiles is silent, unable to react.

“So, I might – I’m thinking about moving to England.” Derek says.

“Wow.” Is all Stiles can say.

Derek huffs a laugh, although it sounds choked. “Yeah, exactly.”

“England.” Stiles states, dumbly.

“I’m really excited.” Derek says, although when he looks at Stiles again his eyes are shining, wet, his smile tight on his face.

Stiles glances down, unable to keep the pain from his face. He tries to hide it. “That’s great.” He rasps, but they can both hear it in his voice anyway.

“Stiles –” Derek starts, reaching out, but Stiles stumbles back.

“I – I should go.” Stiles says, shaking his head. “It’s late.”

Derek’s hand falls away. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you in school.” Stiles tries for a smile, but mostly fails, going by Derek’s pained expression.

Derek nods. “Yeah.”

 

*

Stiles doesn’t see Derek in school.

He avoids him at all costs, unable to bear seeing him and knowing that it’ll probably be one of the last times he’ll actually _see_ Derek in the flesh – knowing that his involvement in Derek’s life is going to turn into updates on his social media feed, on snatches of information he’ll hear in passing, that he won’t even be able to _watch_ anymore.

He can’t just leave. His family is here, his friends, his _life_. Everything is here, _right here._ He doesn’t need a scholarship, he doesn’t need England.

It starts to reach boiling point as Stiles gazes from his vantage point on some building, still in his school clothes, while Derek makes his way across the street, shoulders hunched and head bowed.

Stiles barely knows what he’s doing before he’s shooting his web out and crashing into the sidewalk.

“Ah! Ow, Derek –” Stiles rubs his cheek where it hit the wall, but Derek is whipping around, eyes going wide.

“Stiles!”

“I really need to talk to you –” Stiles starts, but then Derek is shaking his head, and Stiles suddenly notices what he’s wearing: a white shirt, smart dress slacks, his glasses falling hallway down his nose.

“I can’t right now, Stiles, I’m running late –” Derek says, and then he’s turning around to keep on walking, so Stiles jogs a little to catch up.

“It’ll just take a second, please Derek, I really do need to talk to you –” he gushes as Derek enters some building, but then Stiles sprinting ahead to stop in front of Derek, both hands held out in front of him pleadingly.

“Just give me one minute, literally _one minute_ , I just have to say this one thing and then I’m gone, okay."

Derek clenches his jaw, looking behind Stiles to the receptionist, but Stiles is already talking, the words he’s kept inside himself spilling free.

“Okay, okay so I know you want to leave but think about this, your whole life is here and I know, I know Oxford is amazing but there are so many colleges here Derek, and you belong _here,_ okay –”

“Stiles.” Derek grits his teeth, still looking beyond Stiles’ head, and Stiles turns to see the receptionist staring at them, before he sees the big, glaring banner across the desk that says _OXFORD._

“Mr. Hale?” Someone appears at the doorway to one of the rooms. “Can I can take you upstairs?”

Stiles blinks, but then Derek is talking. “Yes.” He nods, ignoring Stiles. “Yes, I just need a minute, I know I’m already late, I’ll be just _one_ minute.” He holds up a finger in a clear plea.

Stiles swallows, looking between the woman holding a clipboard and Derek’s flushed, wild eyes.

“What – where are we?” Stiles lowers his voice, glancing around.

“Stiles, I’m – I’m at my interview.” Derek hisses. “It’s my last interview for Oxford.”

Stiles blinks. “Oh.” He states.

Something in Derek’s face spasms, a flash of pain. “Stiles –”

“Uh, sorry, sorry to have bothered you, then.” Stiles starts backing away, raising his voice for the woman at the door. “Um, madam, my fair lady, I shall be on my way.” Stiles bows his head. “God save the Queen and everything.”

He’s already marching off when he hears Derek’s footfalls behind him.

“Stiles, Stiles just wait –” Derek grabs a hold of his arm, forcing him to a halt, and Stiles turns to find Derek’s eyes, piercing and intent and focused on him, expectant.

“What is it you need to tell me?” Derek asks, his voice going soft. “What’s the one thing?”

Stiles can only look back, helplessly, and feel water burn his eyes as the ability to breathe grows more difficult.

“I have to go to England Stiles.” Derek says, a bare croak. “It’s _important_ to me, okay. This is my future.”

Stiles looks down, blinking away the wetness, and feels tears slide down his cheeks.

“I mean, I – I don’t know!” Derek huffs humourlessly, waving a hand, but there are tears in his eyes too. “Maybe we’re just on different paths right now.” He’s shaking his head, waving his arms helplessly. “I just don’t know, maybe we’re just going different ways and I, okay, I –” he looks behind him, glancing back to Stiles desperately. “I have to go, I _really_ have to go.”

Stiles nods, sucking in a breath. “Okay.” He says.

Derek takes one long, last look at him before he’s stumbling away, but not before he stops after a few paces and just looks at Stiles, powerless.

Stiles can only look back, and then Derek is turning away, taking a step –

“Derek.” Stiles calls out.

Derek stops instantly, whipping his head around.

Stiles holds two thumbs up, smile watery. “Good luck.” He mouths.

Derek ducks his head, smiling back, and then he readjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose, runs a hand through his hair and straightens his shoulders.

He’s every bit Derek Hale then: every bit the boy that Stiles first fell in love with as soon as he took one look at him and knew that he was different, he was _special._

“Hi.” Derek is saying, offering his hand to the woman. “I’m so sorry, we can go ahead now.”

The woman smiles, shaking his hand and then gestures in the direction of the interview room, and Derek gives her a charming, handsome grin, waits until she’s in front before he looks back again, back to Stiles standing at the doors.

His grin evaporates, leaving his face bare, empty. He nods once, and then he’s gone.

 

*

*

Derek breathes in and out, slow and steady, and stares into the streets of New York City. Just lets his eyes follow the passing cars, the rushing people, the busy lives, and feels numb to his core.

“Hey!” His taxi driver suddenly shouts. “It’s Spider-Man!”

Derek jerks his head around, directing his gaze to where the man is pointing.

It’s as if his chest bursts open then, the roots blooming to life, petals blossoming open and finally, finally coming to life.

A slow spreading grin starts to stretch his face apart, crinkling his eyes and hurting his cheeks with its force, but then he’s yanking on the handle of the door.

“Stop the cab.” He states, unable to keep the beam from his voice.

“I’m not moving!” His taxi driver exclaims, but Derek is already stumbling out into the sidewalk, squeezing through the crowd that’s already gathering, people tipping their faces upward and shielding their eyes from the sun.

Across the cables of the Manhattan Bridge, written in block capitals with webbing, are the words,

_I LOVE YOU_

Derek is grinning as he pushes past people murmuring and taking pictures, trying to get as close as physically possible. He stands at the railing where he and Stiles were a few nights ago, stands at the bridge where they met, and feels laughter bubble up, deep inside his chest, even as his eyes are burning.

Derek is laughing, and crying, as he looks up to see a figure sail through the air.

He holds his arms open, already welcoming, already ready, before he connects with a body that takes him up into the sky and flies away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I borrowed heavily from The Amazing Spider-Man 2, as some will be able to tell! just putting that out there


	15. Landings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I can explain.
> 
> Originally this story was going to be 15 chapters, but one lovely reader asked for smut and I'm ... very easily persuaded. Therefore, the last chapter is going to be a bit of a round-up, mostly because I don't want to rush now that I'm so close to the end, and also bonus sexy times. 
> 
> I do try.

“So,” Stiles starts breathlessly once he’s gained balance on top of the pier of the bridge, readjusting his grip on Derek. “You get my message?”

Derek laughs, his eyes bright, the wind ruffling up his hair. “What message?”

“The _message_.” Stiles pants, nodding his head down to his feet, where the words are below them. “The message right there.”

“Oh _that.”_ Derek raises his eyebrows, playfulness creeping into his voice. “That was _you?”_

“Don’t joke.” Stiles says, because he’s still not sure if it’s even _worked_ yet, and his eyes rove over Derek’s face, searching for some kind of answer. “Derek, please.”

“What? I couldn’t make it out.” Derek says innocently, head tilting sideways, but he’s still grinning.

“Want me to read it out to you?” Stiles asks, jostling him a little, and Derek laughs again. “I’ll read it out to you okay, it says I love you, because _I love you.”_ He says, and presses their foreheads together.

Derek just smiles, shakes his head a little, but he’s staring up into Stiles’ eyes.

“Alright?” Stiles says. “And no offence, Derek Hale, but you’re wrong.”

“About what?” Derek asks.

“About us being on different paths, okay. We’re not on different paths.” Stiles says, gripping Derek tighter, but Derek only winds his arms around Stiles neck and pulls them closer together. “You’re my path.” He whispers. “And you’re always gonna be my path.”

Derek’s beam is almost unnaturally wide, his eyes crinkled and shining.

“Okay, and I know I screwed up Derek, I wasn’t there, but I’m here now, and I’ll be here for as long as you’ll have me.” Stiles tells him, and Derek runs his hand down to cup his cheek, one arm still wrapped around his shoulders.

“We all have to make a choice, right?” Stiles whispers, his nose touching Derek’s. “Right? Well I chose you.”

Derek laughs, more of a choke-off sound than anything, but he’s still beaming.

“So,” Stiles begins again, and Derek pauses.

“England.” He states, and Derek blinks, before Stiles continues. “Me and you. The both of us.”

Derek’s mouth falls open, and Stiles grins.

“I’m following you now.” He tells him. “Okay, I’m just gonna follow everywhere, I’m just gonna follow you the rest of my life.”

“But, Stiles – your dad –” Derek stutters.

“I’m pretty sure he could ask for a transfer.” Stiles says. “He is the Sheriff, after all.”

“I don’t know if it works like that.” Derek laughs, breathlessly.

“It will work like that.” Stiles says fiercely. “We’ll make it work, okay, because I’m not gonna be without you.”

Derek’s eyes are wet and shining as he looks at Stiles. “Are you _sure?”_

Stiles nods furiously. “One hundred percent.” He says, and then he tilts his head. “Hey, they have crime in England, right?”

Derek laughs, more of a strangled cough, but Stiles swallows and looks down.

“I mean, I’ve kind of been thinking.” He clears his throat. “It might be time to give up the mask, you know?”

Derek stares, frozen.

“I mean, I’ll have to get a proper job one day.” Stiles huffs, one side of his mouth twisted. “It might be time to let someone else take the limelight.”

Derek is unmoving. Then he’s throwing himself at Stiles and attacking his mouth.

Stiles gasps a laugh against his lips, responding in kind even as he smiles against Derek’s mouth.

“Never – never did such unheroic words inspire such passion.” Stiles chuckles, but Derek just chases him until their lips meet again, gripping the back of Stiles’ head as he crushes their mouths together, kissing him with teeth and tongue and such _ferocity_ that Stiles almost stumbles over the edge.

“You.” Derek pants, catching his breath as he pulls back. “You really mean it?”

Stiles takes a breath. “I think so.” He says shakily. “I’ve done everything I can, you know? I’ve helped people. And I don’t want to help anymore, if that means hurting the people that mean the most.”

“I don’t want you to change.” Derek murmurs, his eyes intense and burning. “I love Spider-Man, I do. But I love _Stiles Stilinski_ more.”

Stiles’ heart jolts at that, and he grins, lopsided and startled. “Yeah?”

Derek stares, hard. “Yes.” He states.

“That’s good.” Stiles breathes. “Because this –” he waves a hand in the air, as if to encompass the whole situation. “Could have been really embarrassing.”

Derek’s head tilts backwards as he laughs. Stiles grins wide, chest full enough to burst.

But of course, it can’t last.

Of course. Because as soon as Stiles finds a little joy, it’s ripped right out of his hands.

One minute they’re laughing together, and the next, Derek is – he’s being lifted, taken away.

Stiles whips around as a blur passes him, and then his arms are empty and Derek – he’s gone, _Derek is gone._

Before Stiles even as time to think, he’s shooting his web out to the nearest building and after them.

“Hey!” Stiles cries, only his voice comes out hoarse, hysterical _. “Hey!”_

There’s a sound, and it takes a while for Stiles to realise it’s laughter.

It chills him to the core, freezes the blood in his veins.

And then they’re stopping, slowing to a halt mid-air, and Stiles jumps onto one of the buildings closest, not caring which one it is, just desperate to be _closer._

“Hey!” Stiles cries, and then actually _sees_ the person.

It’s Matt. It’s _Matt Daehler_.                       

Only it’s not.

His skin is marred by these – these _scales_ , crawling around the sides of his face, blistering and scarred. He’s wearing some kind of skin-tight suit, the same as Stiles, only he has jet gliders on both feet keeping him in the air.

Derek is gripping onto Matt, but his eyes are wild as he stares down at Stiles.

Wild and _scared._    

Stiles almost shouts out Matt’s name, but then realises that would give away his own identity.

“Hey!” He manages, desperation strangling his throat even as he tries to keep calm. “Put him down!”

Matt laughs, this nasty, horrible sound. “Stiles Stilinski.” He sneers. “I knew it was you.”

Stiles’ heart seizes up inside his chest. “What?” He calls over.

“Of course it was you.” Matt carries on. “It’s been you all along. Always unpopular, always unnoticed.” He grins. “It’s always the person you would least expect.”

“Look, why don’t we talk about this, just us?” Stiles tries desperately. “Why don’t you put Derek down, huh?”

“And you don’t even deserve it!” Matt laughs, shaking his head. “You don’t do anything, all that power for what? _Nothing!”_

“Matt, put Derek down!” Stiles shouts, anger bleeding into his voice.

“I know you don’t really want to do this.” Stiles can hear Derek speaking, trying to placate. “It’s not too late, Matt, we can forget all about this.”

“Put him down?” Matt asks, looking down at Stiles and back to Derek. Stiles nods frantically.

“Alright.” Matt murmurs. “Alright. I’ll put him down.”

Stiles sees Matt’s arms loosen and fall to his sides before he sees Derek drop, and so he’s jumping up instantly, colliding with Derek’s body.

Stiles turns them, curling around Derek, protecting Derek with his whole body, and then there’s the sound of shattering glass as they break through the roof.

Stiles closes his eyes and squeezes Derek tight before they’re suddenly hitting something, hard and fast.

He gasps, winded, and pulls back to look at Derek.

Derek, who is panting, wide-eyed and terrified but _alive_.

“You okay?” Stiles gasps. Everywhere hurts, and he has no clue where they are, but Derek’s alive.

Derek nods jerkily, and Stiles almost goes to kiss him then, almost goes to bury his face in Derek’s neck and _weep_ , but then there’s a noise, and Stiles looks up in time to see Matt come crashing in.

Stiles is up in an instant.

Derek goes as if to pull him back, to grasp onto Stiles, but Stiles just shoots his web out, attaches it to Derek’s wrist, and lowers him to another platform.

“I’m gonna put you here, just right here.” He says calmly, but Derek’s eyes are white in fear.

“Ah Stiles, always the saviour.” Matt chuckles, and Stiles turns, boiling fury slowly beginning to seep into his blood.

“Leave him out of this, okay?” Stiles says, stepping forward. “Whatever your problem is, it’s between me and you.”

“I had to get your attention somehow.” Matt holds his arms out innocently. “I mean, you’re a popular guy.”

Stiles grits his teeth, anger burning in his gut. “What do you want then?” Stiles asks. “You’ve got my full attention now.”

“It’s more what I _don’t_ want, and that’s for Spider-Man not to exist.” Matt begins, before he’s charging forward and colliding into Stiles.

Stiles hears Derek’s voice, hears the shout of his name, but he can’t reply.

He can’t reply, because Matt is _strong_ – stronger than he looks, and he’s giving it his all. Stiles manages to avoid a few blows, but he takes as many as he lands, and he’s losing energy quick.

“Stiles!” Derek cries.

Stiles is panting, but he looks down ins time to see Derek jumping from platform to platform, spinning underneath his feet.

It’s some kind of – _clock-tower_ , Stiles realises in dawning horror, and shoots out more web, catching Derek before he falls.

“It’s fine, you’re fine,” he says, only it’s not, because Matt is on him quick, pressing down on his throat and grinning, _grinning_ in his face, but Stiles’ hand is still outstretched, desperately holding onto Derek.

Matt notices just as Stiles is almost free, but then there’s a pressure on his wrist, a foot pressing down and trying to make him release.

“Derek!” Stiles shouts, because the cogs are still spinning, and Matt is pushing his hand up, trying to make it slice through his web.

Matt is sneering, as if he’s winning, as if he’s already won, and so with the last of his energy, Stiles throws his head back and smashes it into Matt’s.

Matt staggers back at the same time one of the cogs comes loose, and then it’s flying across and striking him on the head.

Matt collapses, unconscious, but then the spinning wheel connects with Stiles’ web.

The cord snaps. 

“Stiles?”

The whole world slows down. All noise, all movement stops. 

His arm moves sluggishly, his breath freezes to ice in his throat, his heart ceases to beat.

Derek Hale is the most popular boy in their grade. He wears a letterman jacket and a scowl, is permanently surrounded by attractive, hilarious people, never talks, never cares, gets straight A's, and is the love of Stiles’ life.

He’s calm, aloof and unaffected, curt and indifferent. 

But in that moment, the cord snaps, Derek is suspended in mid-air, his eyes meet Stiles’, and he asks, 

“Stiles?”

His soft voice is steady, questioning, but there’s note of uncertainty in it, as if he doesn’t know why he’s here, why he’s falling inside this abandoned building, and he calls out to the one person who always saves him.

And then he’s falling.

Time resumes and seems to rush forward, and he’s falling so fast the wind is whistling, he’s disappearing into the darkness.

Stiles jumps.

He just jumps, abandoning sense and logic, and flies after Derek.

Stiles whips his arm in front of him and releases his web, stretching and stretching to catch him. Even in the hazy cloud of panic, he has razor-shape focus, pin-point accuracy. 

He knows it’s vital where the web catches Derek, because one wrong move could snap his spinal cord and whip his neck and break every bone in his body.  

Stiles throws his other arm out, aiming the web for Derek’s calf, his wrist. If he yanks too hard he might pull Derek's shoulder from his socket and break his leg, if he is too gentle Derek might smash his head on the ground below. 

As much webbing as he can gather streams from him, the individual strings latching onto Derek's ankles, his thighs, his arms, fastening around his shoulders, wrapping around his waist. 

He reels him, swinging himself onto a metal beam and knotting the web around the metal, barely managing to stop himself from crashing.

Derek falls, bounces, then settles. 

The web has wrapped around him so securely his body is put in an awkward position, lying horizontal, caught up in netting like an insect. 

Stiles holds his breath. 

There’s no movement. 

“Please, please pleasepleaseplease,” Stiles whispers, and jumps down to land beside him. He stares at Derek’s body, terrified to even touch. 

“Please Derek, you are not, _you’re not,_ please, I caught you, I _caught you.”_ Stiles lifts Derek, breaking the wed and falling to the ground with him. 

“Oh, god.” He gasps, and feels something well inside in, choking him, suffocating him. 

“Oh, God, Derek.” He says, a little louder. Stiles rips off the webbing, suddenly restless, chest heaving as detangles all his useless efforts. 

“Derek!” He shouts, shaking his lifeless body. “No.” He says. _“NO!”_

Stiles lays him fully on the ground, moving over him, pressing the heels of his palms into his chest to do CPR. He keeps his arms ramrod straight, pushing hard and fast. He moves so he’s kneeling over Derek’s face, tilting his head back, pinching his nose and placing his mouth completely over his, exhaling so hard his chest hurts. 

He waits, exhales again, goes back to chest compressions, and keeps going, forcefully hard and fast, until finally, finally, finally, Derek gasps into his mouth and starts awake.

For some reason, Stiles moves to his chest again, still pressing down, until Derek coughs, fully alive and _breathing,_ and Stiles freezes, paralysed.

Derek opens his eyes, spluttering and gasping breath into his lungs. 

“Derek.” Stiles says, hands trembling up to his face. “Oh God.” Then he’s stupidly sobbing, with relief, with adrenaline, with complete ecstasy, he doesn’t, he can’t – he’s bringing trembling hands up to Derek’s face, smearing the wet tears across his cheeks.

“Oh God Derek, I thought that was it, I thought you were gone I so thought, oh God Derek, please please stay alive _always_ be alive oh my god I love you I love you –”

Derek is laughing, shaking his head and rasping laughter. 

“I love you so much, fuck you’re not a damsel, are you?” Stiles is babbling. “You are so totally not the damsel, you’re the fucking main character in this shit, I love you so goddamn much never ever do that again.” Kissing all over his face and neck and –

“Well, don’t.” Derek wheezes.

Stiles freezes up again.

“Don’t _drop_ me again.” He croaks.

Stiles laughs then, slightly hysterical. “I really, really do love you, but that was the worst joke in the history of the world, oh my _good god.”_ He kisses Derek’s temple and wraps his arms around his shoulders, holding him so tight he might just squeeze the breath out of him.

“Stiles.” Derek gasps. “Unless you want me to go into shock, you might want to take me to the hospital. I’ve just fell like, a few hundred feet.”

Stiles pulls away, kisses him soundly on the mouth, gathers him up, puts his mask on and does as he’s told.

 

*

The staff of A&E all seem rather shocked to see Spider-Man hobble onto the premises, with none other than the notorious Derek Hale in his arms.

Nurses crowd around and lower Derek onto the wheeled bed, but Stiles still isn’t letting go of any part of him. He peels the mask to uncover his mouth.

“I’m going to be right here Derek, I’m just right here.” He whispers into his ear, stroking his hair. 

Derek nods, exhausted. 

The nurses are wheeling him away and Stiles follows as far as he can until they’re insistent and he bends and kisses the corner of his mouth, the shell of his ear, and then Derek's going, he’s gone.

Stiles sits in the waiting room, head held in his hands.

The police took Matt away as soon as he regained consciousness, with the news reporters and media all crowding around. 

They’re all waiting outside, all camped out there to be the first to ask ‘Spider-Man’ who his new nemesis is.

He can hear their voices, the snapping of cameras, the flashes of light. He tunes out all the noise and the whispering until a nurse comes, and he follows her to Derek’s room.

He peels off the mask as soon as they’re alone, coming to crouch by his head. Derek blinks awake and turns to him sleepily.

“Stiles?” He asks.

“I’m here. Do you want me to call anybody, your parents, or –”

Derek shakes his head, reaches out and takes his hand. “Stiles.”

“Right here.”

He pulls him in close, still shaking. “I love you too.” He says carefully.

Stiles freezes. 

Derek smiles weakly. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, what with the – falling and everything.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” He starts to grin.

“Not for as long as I live.” Derek laughs, and then adds softly, “Spider-Man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be coming soon. Very soon. Hopefully tomorrow, definitely in the next few days.


	16. Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured I owed you guys some pre-coital, coitus-coital and post-coital happy times for the angst fest that has been the last few chapters. 
> 
> Also, we have come to the end. I know, I can hardly believe it, but I'm so happy to be posting the last chapter for you wonderful people, I truly hope it was worth the wait.

Things settle, after that.

It turns out that Matt snuck into the lab and injected himself with some kind of experiment they were working on, thinking it was the same thing that made Spider-Man, but the effects wore off after a few hours (thankfully), and he was given a considerable fine for the damages caused, and a severe warning. His parents made a public apology, and Matt hung his head, but at least he seemed chastised.

Spider-Man slowly becomes something of the past, a distantly fading memory, and copy-cats pop up here and there from time to time, people desperate for a taste of the fame and adoration that comes with being a vigilante.

But it’s always the same story of a kid dressed up in costume that stopped a street fight, or some little girl that wrote in her essay she wanted to be a superhero, and Stiles –

Stiles _created_ that. Maybe not Stiles Stilinski himself, but a part of him did.

And he’ll always, always be proud of that.

Derek gives him these soft glances whenever it comes on the news, whenever a reporter ends a piece with, _‘but it would have been a different story were Spider-Man here to save the day’._

But Stiles will look back at him in those moments, unwavering.

He’s made his choice.

The others still talk about it. It just comes up in conversation, it’s basically inevitable. Almost everyone in New York City is curious, everyone wants to know.

_Who exactly **is** Spider-Man? Is he someone we know? Is he someone close to us? Could he really be among us, just like anybody else?_

Various Peter Parker’s across the world have been called out, who have all vehemently and repeatedly denied it, but it seems nobody has actually tried to name themselves Spider-Man yet.

Stiles honestly can’t figure out why. It would be easy – all they would have to do is produce a red costume, and even then, it would only take a _, ‘it’s me’_ , for a few seconds of fame, for the spotlight to be thrust directly onto them.

But it seems nobody wants to take on the title. Everyone is simply holding their breath, silent, _waiting_.

“I’m past the point of caring.” Erica says, rolling her eyes, as they’re all sat at the library. “It’s been what – two years?”

“Here here.” Stiles tips his head, holding up his water bottle like it’s a champagne glass, and looks to Derek smiling.

“If he was gonna come out, he’d have done it by now.” Jackson gripes.

Stiles purses his mouth, tilting his head to the side. “That’s funny.” He says, and presses his knee to Derek’s. “I thought I was already out.”

Jackson blinks. Erica pauses with her sandwich half-way to her mouth. Danny’s eyes widen.

“No.” He starts, in disbelief. “ _No_. No!”

Danny suddenly jumps up, and Stiles swallows, a tightness to his throat despite the careless grin.

They’d both agreed to tell the group two weeks ago, Derek and him, but the time was never right, they were never all together.

He’d practised all the ways to come out with it, all the ways to begin, but eventually just decided it was better to say it in a way his friends would know as just _Stiles._

Now, with ten faces all staring back him, Stiles finds himself at a loss.

Erica Reyes blinks at him dumbly, while Vernon Boyd simply stares with an expectant expression.

Jackson Whittemore gapes, mouth hanging open. Danny Māhealani points a finger, speechless.

Isaac Lahey is frowning, uncomprehending, but Lydia Martin has her mouth pursed primly, both eyebrows raised. Malia Tate has her face scrunched up in confusion, and Allison Argent is smiling.

Scott McCall is beaming wide from ear-to-ear, Kira Yukimura has her head tilted as she waits for Stiles to continue.

Derek Hale doesn’t look at him at all, but the hand on top of Stiles’ knee is warm.

“Look.” Stiles begins, holding both hands spread and swallowing thickly. “I know this is probably a lot to take in –”

“You’re – are you saying – that you’re –” Danny babbles.

“I don’t understand what’s going on.” Erica begins, but her eyes are wide as if she does.

Until Lydia sighs, holding out a hand, and Boyd wordlessly reaches into his pocket for his wallet.

“What.” Stiles states, looking between them.

“Did you really think we didn’t know?” Lydia asks, one eyebrow perched.

“I’m right?” Erica asks, glancing around, and then she’s grinning. “Am I right? _I’m right!”_ She jumps up, fist pumping the air.

“I –” Stiles glances to Derek, lost, and finds Derek just as confused.

“Oh my God, Stiles, did you honestly think we had no idea?” Lydia carries on.

“I honestly _do_ have no idea what’s going on.” Isaac offers at large.

“Stiles.” Lydia inclines her head significantly. “Being. You know.”

“What’s that got to do with coming out?” Isaac looks around the group.

Erica lets her hand drop. “Were you not listening to the conversation at all?”

“Nobody told me!” Danny cries.

Stiles buries his head into his hands, but then he’s laughing.

Bets were placed. Prizes were on offer for when Stiles would eventually tell them.

Why is he not in the least surprised?

 

*

“Can you believe they knew?” Stiles is still laughing as they stumble into Derek’s room.

Derek is laughing too. “Jackson’s _face.”_

“Now that.” Stiles holds up a finger. “That makes me happy I didn’t say anything.”

Derek shakes his head, but then his hands are on Stiles’ waist, warm heat and strong fingers, and Stiles turns and finds Derek’s mouth.

Stiles runs his hands up and into Derek’s thick hair and grips, pulling him closer as they tumble and topple onto the bed.

Derek gasps, mouth opening beautifully as he slides their bodies together, rough friction against their clothes, too many layers, _too_ many –

“Get these – off –” Stiles pants against Derek’s lips, pulling at the waistband of his jeans, but to his surprise and utter _delight_ , Derek is wriggling his hips and pulling his trousers down.

Stiles gasps and sits up immediately to help, but Derek pushes him back into the bed, growling.

“Missed you so – _fucking_ much.” Derek pants, pulling at Stiles’ clothes now.

Stiles laughs breathlessly, even as he grips Derek tighter.

“Well don’t break up with me then.” He rasps, and Derek pulls back to give him a raised eyebrow.

“I mean it.” Stiles says, and can’t keep the creeping fear from his voice. “Never do that again, alright? Even if you hate me, even if you can’t bear to look at me – never leave me, okay?”

Derek tilts his head. “You would prefer I was with you when I hated you, rather than just break up with you?”

“I guess I would just have to make you love me again.” Stiles grins and palms Derek’s backside, grinding them together and making Derek gasp.

“I think – I could be persuaded.” Derek says into his mouth, and Stiles laughs, sliding his trousers down all the way as Derek kicks them off until he’s only in boxers and a t-shirt, hair ruffled, cheeks flushed.

“That’s good.” Stiles pants back, lifting his arms so Derek can yank at his shirt and throw it somewhere across the room.

“Dereh! Can I –”

Stiles has never seen anyone move so fast.

Because one minute, they’re kissing on the bed, and the next Derek has flown across the room and is plastering himself over the door.

“Cora!” He booms. “I told you, you can’t come in here!”

“But –”

“Ask Laura!” Derek’s voice rises in hysteria and Stiles covers his face with both hands to keep from laughing.

Derek is flustered and utterly rumpled, t-shirt rucked up and boxers tented with his obvious erection, two socked feet against the door and cheeks flushed red.

He catches Stiles’ eyes from across the room, and then he’s thudding his head on the door.

“This is terrible.” He groans.

There are a lot of words that Stiles would use to describe the sight in front of him, but _terrible_ isn’t one of them.

Stiles crosses over quietly and presses himself along Derek, taking his face in his hands.

Derek peeks one eye open, and Stiles laughs, leaning in close and touching their foreheads.

“I don’t mind.” He whispers.

“We never have any time together.” Derek murmurs, mournful.

Stiles raises his eyebrows. “There’s time now?”

Derek’s eyes slowly begin to light up.

“Derek!” Talia calls up. “You two wanting any snacks?”

Derek rips open the door and throws his head out. “No! We’re – doing _work!”_ He shouts. “ _Home_ work!”

“Alright!” Talia replies. “Just wondering!”

Derek sighs explosively and slams the door shut, turning back to Stiles with an even more flushed face than before.

“I swear to God.” He begins, squeezing his eyes shut. “There’s no point. She’ll be back again.”

Stiles nuzzles his face into Derek’s throat, nipping the skin slightly. Derek makes a soft noise, hands falling to Stiles’ hips.

“I can be quiet.” Stiles whispers against the hot shell of Derek’s ear.

Dere shudders, but then he’s pushing weakly at Stiles. “Stiles.” He murmurs. “They’re right outside.”

“They won’t know.” Stiles says softly.

“I’m definitely going to hell.” Derek answers.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.” Stiles murmurs, mouthing lazily at the skin of Derek’s neck.

“It’s – very wrong.” Derek says roughly, eyes shut and jaw clenched.

Stiles shakes his head. “Think about it, it’s not like we’re doing anything bad.” He pulls back to grin wickedly. “It’s not like this is dangerous, or harmful. Call it the opposite.”

Derek’s breath hitches as Stiles gives a slow roll of his hips.

“Hmm? This helps release endorphins in the body, helps relax the muscles –”

As he speaks he runs a hand down and cups Derek through his boxers, who keens and bucks into the touch like a starved man. 

“Regulates the heart, keeps the skin clear –”

Derek makes another soft, high noise in the back of his throat.

Stiles grins, pressing into him harder, rubbing the heel of his palm into Derek, who bucks his hips and whines.

Stiles pulls back, surprised.

“It’s been – a long time.” Derek manages, croaky, as if in explanation.

Stiles gives Derek one arched eyebrow. “I would hope so.” He says strongly, even as his gut clenches. This is the first time they’ve had alone together since breaking up, and it’s not as if Stiles has been with anyone else. Not as if he even _thought_ about being with anyone else.

Derek rolls his eyes, exasperated. “I mean just. In general.” There’s a suspicious flush to his cheeks, even as his jaw is clenched. “I haven’t. For a while.”

Stiles feels his features smooth out in realisation. “Really?” He breathes.

Derek clears his throat. “Well I just. Wasn’t. Really in the mood.” He says stutteringly.

Stiles leans in close, nudging their noses together and closing his eyes. “Me neither. I haven’t been either.”

Derek smiles, tilting his face up and brushing the tip of his nose against Stiles’. “That’s good.” He whispers.

Stiles feels himself soften, feels warmth bloom inside his chest, and then he leans in and says into Derek’s ear, “I want to suck you off.”

Derek goes rigid in a second, his spine stiffening, all his muscles tensing.

Stiles draws back to find him frozen.

 _“Jesus,_ Stiles.” He hisses after a minute, his hands tight on Stiles’ hips. “You can’t just _say_ that.”

Stiles chuckles, satisfaction unfurling in his stomach at the reaction. “I want to, though.” He confesses softly. “I’ve wanted to for a while.”

Derek thunks his head against the door again, groaning low, and Stiles laughs.

“I want to do it here.” Stiles murmurs, and then he’s kneeling, pressing his face into Derek’s thigh and breathing in.

Derek shakes, the muscles of his legs taut and rigid. Stiles skims his mouth over the bare skin of his legs, running his hands up to hold Derek’s behind as he kisses all over his front.

“Stiles, I –” Derek starts, choked, and a hand falls onto Stiles’ shoulder.

They must look a pair: Stiles bare-chested and still wearing trousers, Derek only in a t-shirt and boxers, but Stiles finds he likes their mismatched condition, he likes their desperate state of undress.

Stiles nuzzles his face into the fabric of Derek’s briefs, inhaling the familiar smell of his laundry detergent and something else, something a little more subtle and earthier that’s just _him_.

Derek shudders as Stiles begins mouthing at the hard outline he finds in Derek’s boxers, pressing the flat of his tongue against the material.

He pulls the waistband down slowly, letting the head gently pop free, and teases it with flicks of his tongue until gasps are falling from Derek’s lips.

“Have to be quiet.” Stiles whispers, pulling back to look up at Derek biting his fist.

Derek nods frantically, and Stiles pulls the waistband a little lower before taking the tip into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and relishing in the taste of slightly salty, bitter pre-cum.

Derek makes a muffled cry, and Stiles squeezes the flesh of his backside in warning before swallowing him down.

Although Stiles has read various articles online and done _extensive_ research on the topic at hand, he only manages to take Derek halfway into his mouth before his throat seizes up.

Stiles breathes through his nose, willing his throat to adjust around Derek’s length, but Derek is already squirming, his thighs tense with the effort of keeping still.

“You okay?” Derek asks, voice strained, but there are fingers carding through his hair, soothing.

Stiles slides back slowly, fluttering his tongue along the shaft as he pulls off with a wet pop, and then he takes Derek in his hand and bends to suck on one of Derek’s balls.

Derek jolts up, shuddering all over as Stiles skims his teeth against the sensitive skin, sucking it gently into his mouth as he drags his hand up slow over Derek’s length, swiping a thumb over the leaking tip.

“Stiles, I –” Derek is shaking, voice choked, and so Stiles swallows him again, massaging his balls with one hand as he circles his tongue around Derek’s shaft and –

“Ah, _ah_ – _St_ – _”_ Derek doesn’t finish his sentence, his voice going cut off in an open-mouthed, silent cry as he comes, trying to pull at Stiles’ hair with stiff, frozen fingers.

Stiles doesn’t move, just works him through it, milking the orgasm out of him. Derek is shaking, mouth moving silently with no sound coming out, head thrown back and knees nearly buckling.

Stiles rises to his feet afterwards and presses himself to Derek, pushing his face into Derek’s neck as he hides his flushed face.

“Was it – good?” He murmurs, and then Derek is spinning them around and pressing him to the door.

“That was _amazing.”_ He states, eyes dark and serious, cheeks red and hair disarrayed.

“Oh.” Stiles pants, and shudders, overwrought and overwhelmed.

But then Derek’s hands are at his waistband, popping opening the button and unzipping his jeans, and Stiles can’t help but gasp and buck up into Derek’s touch.

“Shh, I’ve got you, I’m here.” Derek is murmuring, sliding a hand inside Stiles’ briefs and finally, _finally_ gripping him, loose and unhurried.

The tightness in his gut is replaced instantly with relief, pure _pleasure_ , and Stiles bites his lip against a moan, rolling his hips up into Derek.

“What do you want?” Derek is murmuring, breath hot on Stiles’ face. “Want me to suck you off? Or this? Something else? Anything else?”

Stiles gasps a laugh, suddenly so _fond_ despite the incessant throbbing in his groin, and wraps an arm around Derek’s strong shoulders, peppering kisses over his face – the corner of his mouth, his cheekbone, his ear.

“I love you.” Stiles nuzzles into the side of Derek’s face. “So much.”

Derek laughs, a gentle, lovely sound. “Stiles, I’ll do it, you don’t have to –”

“But I do.” Stiles cups his cheek, caressing his face with the pad of a thumb. “I do.”

“What do you want?” Derek asks, quickening his pace, tightening his hand _just so_ and making Stiles gasp.

“Ah – if you would be so very kind, I would really like to come on you.” Stiles manages to pant.

Derek stills, and Stiles feels his cheeks heat impossibly more, mouth opening to dismiss what he's just said, but then Derek looks Stiles in the eye, dark and heated.

“Where?” He asks, voice rough.

Stiles swallows. “Anywhere, just – keep the clothes on.”

Derek quirks an eyebrow. “Really? This?” He looks down at himself. “Is a turn-on?”

“Such a turn-on.” Stiles says in a breath, his eyes drinking Derek in. “I have Derek Hale, alone in his bedroom, wearing nothing but boxers and that band t-shirt I’ve seen him wear a million times, asking me how I want to come.”

Derek tips his head back laughing, shaking his head, eyes crinkled in warmth.  “You have no idea.” He begins, eyebrows raised. “Who I have in my bedroom.”

Stiles grins, and starts to say – _Spider-Man?_

“Stiles. Stilinski.” Derek finishes, and Stiles feels his face flame to life.

He ducks his head, hiding away even as he laughs, but Derek carries on.

“Half-naked, _hottest_ guy I ever met, also the funniest, kindest, _cutest_ – and currently hiding his face as I compliment him.” Derek says, tilting his head down with Stiles and trying to catch his eyes, but Stiles shakes his head laughing, wrapping his arm around Derek’s shoulders more and hugging him close.

“I really hate you.” He chuckles, pressing his cheek to Derek’s, but Derek just laughs in his ear.

“No you don’t.” He informs Stiles. “I know this for a fact.”

Stiles pulls back, but he’s grinning so wide his cheeks his hurt. “Maybe I do, and I just keep you around for other things.”

Derek makes an inquisitive face, even as his hand on Stiles tightens. “Hm? What’s that?”

Stiles gasps, jerking forward as his aching, forgotten cock is given attention. “Ah, lots – lots of things.”

“I think you need to be more specific.” Derek tells him.

Stiles shakes his head, clinging to Derek. “Just – research.” He manages. “Very important research.”

“I see.” Derek flicks his wrist, making Stiles’ knees almost buckle and give way.

“I’m – I’m close, Derek.” Stiles pants, and Derek slows his hand.

“Where do you want to do it?” Derek asks, soft and willing. “Stomach? Face? Chest?”

Stiles honestly doesn’t care one ounce where it is exactly he comes on Derek, but the thought of just _coming_ on Derek Hale – of marking his skin, of Derek having Stiles’ come somewhere on his body – fills Stiles’ head with a cloudy haze.

“Any – anywhere.” Stiles rasps thickly.

Derek lifts the edge of his t-shirt, exposing his bare stomach, the tan skin, the trail of soft, fuzzy hair darkening at his navel, the muscles flexing, and Stiles –

Yes.

Stiles would like to come there.

“Here?” Derek asks, almost – _coy,_ biting his lip.

Stiles nods frantically before Derek starts stroking him again, taking him out of his briefs and nudging the head against his belly, and it only takes a few rough strokes until Stiles feels the building pressure in his gut mounting to the point of pain, and he’s gasping, rocking forward, still nodding.

“Yeah, yeah, please –” he mutters, senseless, but Derek just rubs Stiles’ weeping, swollen tip across his stomach, hand quickening, and that’s it.

Stiles comes with a guttural, drawn-out groan, long and low, and spurts across Derek’s stomach, catching on his t-shirt a little bit.

Derek just rubs it into skin, grinning.

“It’s warm.” He murmurs, looking down. “Feels nice.”

Stiles flops against him, listless, and buries his face into Derek’s neck. “You are too hot.” He complains.

Stiles can feel Derek’s laugh reverberate inside his chest.

 

*

Afterwards, they lie in Derek’s bed, just basking in the contact, running fingers along each other's skin and tracing patterns on each other.

Somewhere along the way Derek lost his shirt while Stiles lost his trousers, and so he lies on his back with one arm wrapped around Stiles as Stiles circles his pink nipples with a gentle fingertip and watches him squirm, their legs tangled, chests bare.

“It tickles.” Derek giggles, trying to wriggle away, but Stiles holds fast.

“I think you like it.” Stiles tells him, because he _knows_ that flush crawling it’s way down Derek’s chest.

“Feels weird.” Derek insists, scrunching his nose, but Stiles decides that further testing is needed before a conclusion can be made.

“Whatever you say.” Stiles grins, and then sighs blissfully, fitting his head under the crook of Derek’s chin and closing his eyes.

“I think I like this – just as much.” Derek murmurs, and Stiles pops his head up.

“What?” He raises an eyebrow.

“This.” Derek murmurs sleepily, eyelids drooping. “Just being close, touching. I think it’s just as good as – other stuff.”

Stiles hums in his chest, lying back down. “I agree.” He replies, after a second.

“I’ve never really had this with anyone.” Derek confesses. “I don’t think I would want it with anyone other than you.”

Stiles pushes his face into Derek’s neck in order to hide his beam. “Me neither.” He says in a whisper.

Derek takes a deep breath, turning his nose into Stiles’ hair, before exhaling in a gust. “Have to get changed soon.” He says, quiet. “Mom will probably ask about dinner.”

Stiles nods. “Few more minutes.”

Derek just shuffles around onto his side, fitting himself up against Stiles’ back and draping an arm over him.

Stiles groans. “This isn’t helping.” He says, almost comatose. He can’t move a muscle. Even his _feet_ are warm, trapped between Derek’s. His feet are never warm.

He feels Derek smile into the back of his head. “Sleep.” He says, and so Stiles does.

He doesn’t know if Talia asks them about dinner, but when he wakes, a blanket has been put over them both, and Derek is fast asleep, mouth open and features lax.

 

*

They’re sat outside in the summer sun, crossed-legged on the picnic blanket with the food spread out between them as they relish in the heat, the first good weather they’ve had in ages.

Derek is smiling, a soft thing on his face as he talks, hands waving to gesture the story, and Stiles lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment, just to savour it.

They’re leaving for England next month, packing up and starting afresh. He’s nervous, although he won’t admit it, and there are things that he’ll miss, _people_ he’ll miss, but he’s excited too. It turns out that there are a lot of scholarships on offer for students with Stiles’ grades, and well. It’s not as if Stiles isn’t interested in science.

Plus, four years isn’t such a long time to get a degree. Stiles thinks it would be a lot longer without Derek.

His dad is coming too, along with the whole Hale family in some kind of big, pieced-together, mismatched group. It’s an adventure, but one that they’ll embark on together.  

Suddenly Stiles hears an alarm, some way away in the distance, and glances up sharply.

Derek is watching him. 

Stiles glances back to him smiling, and shakes his head. “Sorry.” He laughs. “Habit.”

He’s still watching. “Go.” Derek says suddenly.

Stiles blinks. “What?”

“Go on.” Derek inclines his head, grinning. “Just go.”

Stiles opens his mouth, but closes it, and leans close. “Are you sure?” He asks, frowning.

Derek’s eyes are clear, intent on him. “Yes.”            

“Derek –” Stiles starts.

“I’ll still be here.” He smiles, his expression unchanged. “But go.”

Stiles waits a beat before standing, bending to touch Derek’s shoulder, to take a second, before he’s shooting his web out and swinging through the air. 

He isn’t wearing his mask, in full view, broad daylight.

Derek has a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, head tipped back as he looks towards the sky. 

That’s the photo they use.

 

*

> _I watched Superman fly away_
> 
> _Come back, I'll be with you someday,_
> 
> _I'll be right here on the ground,_
> 
> When you come back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! 
> 
> I want to take a moment to thank everyone who's been following the story, everyone who comments and boosts my motivation, it truly is appreciated. I'll definitely miss this one, it was a lot of fun, but I hope the ending has lived up!
> 
> Before I forget, [ this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJzSt8_gp3o) is the song that basically inspired the whole story!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also Peasantaries on [Tumblr](https://peasantaries.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/peasantaries), and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peasantaries/)! Come over and talk to me! I'll never bite <33


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